Collision Course
by Meromorph
Summary: For Halloween, Willow goes as the Mind of a Culture spaceship, and Buffy and Xander, as members of her crew. Then Ethan casts his spell. How will two humans and one small sentient ship, endowed with the heritage of a bright (but apparently fictional) space-faring civilization, respond to the state of the galaxy and world? A "Ship of the Line" multi-crossover.
1. OCP, Or, The Costumes of the Mind

**Author's Note:** This story incorporates elements from Joss Whedon's _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , Iain M. Banks' _Culture_ series, and MGM / Sony Pictures' _Stargate_ franchise. I gratefully acknowledge the creators whose works I draw from, and I expressly state that I assert no claim of ownership over their own property. **End Author's Note.**

 **Chapter 1: Outside Context Problem,** ** _Or_** **, The Costumes of the Mind.**

"Where are all the costumes?" asked Buffy Summers, peering around empty racks and displays. 'Ethan's Costume Shoppe' was bare, like all the other costume stores in town. "This is not good."

A charming gentleman sauntered in from the back. He spoke with a lively and sophisticated British accent. "Oh, hello. I'm Ethan Rayne, the proprietor of this establishment. I'm sorry to say I sold my last costume just ten minutes ago."

"We're doomed," said Willow Rosenberg. "Principal Snyder is going to kill us. And I was liking my life so much. I feel like I was just on the cusp of getting to the good part."

"For what it's worth," interjected Ethan, "I've always thought the most important part of any costume is your imagination." His voice grew quiet and passionate. "To wear a costume properly is to assume a role, to play pretend. To assume a role, then, is to turn whatever you may be wearing into a costume. Never underestimate the power of the mind."

"What," said Buffy.

But Willow understood. "I think what he means is, anything can be a costume if you want it to be. Like, if you wanted to be a cop, sure you could put on a cop costume. But you could also say you're an _undercover_ cop and just wear your normal clothes. Who's to say your normal clothes aren't an undercover-cop costume?"

"That's exactly it," said Ethan, sounding satisfied. "Roleplaying, the costume-wearing of the mind, is what makes an outfit into a physical costume. Any outfit will do, not just an unusual one. When an actor plays an ordinary person, his outfit is still called a costume even though it is ordinary clothing. His imagination, and that of the audience, animates it, makes it real."

"An interesting perspective," said Xander. "But I fear this lesson may be lost on our esteemed principal. His 'imagination' is lacking compared to that of our erudite new British friend."

"Yeah," said Willow, "we're doomed."

"I know it's not much," conceded Ethan, "and it doesn't sound like your 'Principal Snyder' is a fan of the subtler points of philosophy. But it's worth a try, and if you're going to go down, why not go down having fun? When I was younger, my friends and I used to love pretending to be all kinds of people."

Buffy sighed. "Well, I don't have any better ideas. There isn't enough time for us to go home and make costumes from scratch. Xander, Willow, your thoughts?"

"If you'll permit me another wisecrack, Madam Chairwoman," said Xander, "maybe we can use 'the power of the mind' to change reality. You know, make Principal Snyder stop existing. Isn't reality supposed to be jointly created by our imaginations? I read that somewhere."

"Ah, the postmodernist view," said Ethan, looking slightly shifty. "Complete rubbish."

"So, just to clarify, 'the power of the mind': not so powerful after all?" asked Buffy.

"No. You're confusing two completely separate things. One is about what counts as properly playing dress-up, and the other is about what counts as reality. Wearing a Batman costume and playing the part of Batman makes you a pretend Batman, not a real one," said Ethan. "Everyone knows that."

"Thank you for your words of wisdom. I will cherish this moment always," Xander replied.

"I am truly sorry I couldn't help you any further. Before you leave, would you like some tea? I have some very fine Darjeeling. No? Well, ta. Remember what I said and your evening will be magical." Ethan smiled warmly.

"Whatever," said Buffy. "Later."

Willow paused, lost in thought. As she followed the others out, she began to grin. "Hey guys, I have a great idea. Xander, you remember those books we used to talk about all the time?"

When the Gang left the store, they didn't notice notice Ethan muttering arcane words and making a few quick hand gestures at their backs. As it turned out, Ethan was a wizard, and he had just covertly marked them for inclusion in his next big trick. He would come to regret that. To his credit, Ethan did not know that Buffy was secretly the Slayer, a girl empowered by mystical forces to fight supernatural evils. Nor did he know what Willow was planning.

* * *

Ethan discretely checked that the group had indeed left, then locked the door, flipping the open sign to closed. He strode dramatically through the curtain leading into one of his back rooms and knelt. In front of him was a two-faced bust, with one face looking forward and the other looking back. Ethan picked up a small dagger and pricked a finger, dabbing his left eyelid with blood.

"I call upon Janus. I invoke his spirit by name and by attributes: O god of time and transitions, whose might seeps in through the edges and pervades the spaces between worlds…" As Ethan spoke his prayer, the bust began to glow softly.

* * *

"Okay, let me get this straight," said Buffy. "You want us to pretend to be aliens from this 'Culture,' on a covert survey mission to Earth?"

"Well, not really aliens," said Willow. "The biological people of the Culture are for the most part 'pan-humans,' whose physiology is quite similar to ours and to each other's even though they come from different planets. The author, this Scottish guy named 'Iain M. Banks,' says he has an explanation for this but has never given it. Then there are drones, which are kind of like robots, but fully sentient and with all the rights and responsibilities people have. Finally, there are the Minds."

"Her favorite part," said Xander.

"Everyone's favorite part, really. I mean, how can you not love them after reading the latest book, _Excession_? I sometimes have this fantasy that I'm a Mind, and I'm all confident and wise, a real hit among my crew, and so on." She started grinning off into space.

"And a Mind is?" asked Buffy.

"Oh. Right, Minds are these machine superintelligences. Their thoughts are so fast they have to do their computation in hyperspace, where lightspeed is higher, and their bodies are ships and massive habitats and universities and so on. They're really really clever and good and they're very, very powerful. Also, they have a great sense of humor."

"So you want to be a 'superintelligence,'" said Buffy. "What, you're not intelligent enough already?"

"Buffy, a superintelligence isn't like a very smart human. It's more like a… well, it's like a god. But not actually a god. Imagine the entirety of human civilization spending a thousand years working on a single problem, developing culture and memes around it and everything. There's nothing divine _per se_ about this process, but that's what it's like for a single Mind to spend maybe a second on something, in theory."

"Let me guess, that's what you're 'dressing up' as?" said Buffy.

"Yep, a Mind version of me. Well, actually, it's more precise to say that what I'm dressing up as is in orbit, and what you see before you is merely my humanoid avatar. I like to send my avatar on away missions, like this one. It's one of my quirks, you see."

"I… see. And we are?" asked Buffy.

"Part of my crew. I'm a spaceship!"

"I should have known!" quipped Xander. "The clues were there all along."

* * *

In a factory somewhere in Sunnydale, Spike and Drusilla, the vampire couple that were the Gang's current nemeses, snuggled in bed.

Drusilla was a seer. She had long known what could happen tonight, even if she didn't fully understand it. The clues had been spread across many visions over most of her life.

Drusilla had a plan and a part to play. Step 1: Distract Spike.

"Spike," said Drusilla, before kissing Spike's neck coyly, "can we stay home tonight?"

By the time they picked up their clothes from the floor several hours later, it would be too late for Spike to mess things up.

* * *

"What is the meaning of this?" snarled Principal Snyder. "I said costumes were mandatory. Mandatory!"

Buffy looked sheepish but determined. Xander looked resigned and aloof. Surprisingly, Willow looked calm and confident, and it was she who stepped forward to whisper to Snyder.

" _We're here in character, play along._ " Willow stepped back. "Good evening Principal Snyder," said Willow, smiling. "Despite appearances, I am a Culture General Contact Unit, a kind of intelligent spaceship. What you see before you is merely my avatar. Hello! Let me introduce my crew. This is Zander —" she gestured to Xander "— a noted social scientist and unusually young member of Contact —"

Xander waved, smiling a little bit too much.

"— and this is Buffi, another young member of Contact, who, uh, who specializes in math and computing and philosophy. Yeah." (Buffy glared mutinously.) "And, and many other things too! Like tactics and the history of conflict and being a badass."

Buffy huffed and waved at Snyder halfheartedly.

Willow continued, "We're wearing outfits that are indistinguishable from ordinary Earth clothes so we can blend in more. Yep!" She looked at Snyder expectantly.

Before Snyder could respond, computer science teacher Jenny Calendar walked over from where she had been discretely observing the exchange. She put on her 'prim teacher' face. "Principal Snyder, good to see you! What do you think of my extra credit assignment?"

"Your _what?_ " demanded Snyder.

"I asked Willow to roleplay tonight as an AI from a notable science fiction work, to investigate cultural views of computer science and explore the possible ramifications of technology. As you can see, Willow has chosen the Culture series." Jenny smiled collegially. "I'm thrilled to see that her friends have decided to join in as well."

Snyder's eyebrow twitched. It was clear that Jenny had invented this on the spot. But if there was one thing Snyder could not stomach, it was showing disunity in front of students. They'd eat you alive. "Fine," he muttered. He turned and stormed off. Jenny instantly relaxed.

"Wow Ms. Calendar. Thank you!" said Willow. "I didn't know you were familiar with those books."

"Are you kidding?" said Jenny conspiratorially. "They're my favorite!"

As Willow and Jenny chatted, Xander wondered to himself whether, somewhere deep inside Principal Snyder, there was even a real person. Xander suspected he would never find out.

* * *

It was around 6:30, a little less than an hour and a half after sundown, and well past the time when the first three stars became visible in the sky. The night had properly begun. Ethan said a final chant and spilled his blood over the bust of Janus, enacting his spell. All over Sunnydale, the costumes from Ethan's Costume Shoppe (each of which he had designated with his hand-signs and incantations, just like the Gang's clothes earlier) suddenly became real, and their wearers became what they had pretended.

Though Ethan didn't know it yet, as part of realizing Willow's costume, his spell had summoned a cloaked ship into high Earth orbit.

* * *

In a distant, possibly fictional alternate universe, the General Contact Unit _Secretly Awesome_ had been orbiting high over Earth. Among many other activities, the ship had been in the middle of sending a message to two of its fellow Minds.

x GCU _Secretly Awesome_  
o Sage _Grelal_  
o GSV _Quietly Confident_

 **So I've completed my initial survey** [diaglyph file and data attached] **, and a bunch of interesting stuff seems to have happened since the** ** _Arbitrary_** **'s visit to this planet 20 years ago. Things have gotten quite a bit better, actually. Well, in relative terms. They're no longer on the verge of destroying themselves with nuclear weapons, at least. That's always nice. It's a shame they're in the control group. Having had a chance to contribute extensively to the models (thanks guys!), I know we're doing the rightest thing by not intervening, but there's still a tiny temptation to bedazzle the barbarians. I'll just have to settle for running simulations.**

–

x Sage _Grelal_  
o GCU _Secretly Awesome_

 **Glad to hear things are going smoothly! I'd be interested in hearing your opinion on some developments back at the University. Some students who have 'defected' from Durn have suggested tha** [Message timeout.]

–

 **Hello? Your signal seems to have cut out.**

 **Um, also, a few stars appear to have changed. In realspace light. Some are hundreds of years away. And the grid is different, more turbulent.**

 **Further, my crew are almost all gone. They've just… disappeared. The ship is empty, and I'm getting positives from only two on the surface. My avatar is still down there as well.**

 **And let me guess, you're not there anymore, are you? Yeah, I can see where this is going.**

–

[Sage _Grelal_ : No ack.]

–

[Ping.]

–

[Sage _Grelal_ : No ack.]

–

x GCU _Secretly Awesome_  
o GSV _Quietly Confident_

[Ping.]

–

[GSV _Quietly Confident_ : No ack.]

–

[Ping.]

–

[GSV _Quietly Confident_ : No ack.]

–

x GCU _Secretly Awesome_  
o GSV _Decent Exposure_  
o GCU _Listen to the Sounds…_  
o (d)ROU _My Mind is Going_  
o Orbital _Gdem_  
o Orbital _Masaq'_  
o Sage _Durn  
_ & 31398 other recipients

 **Hi everyone. I'm sorry for the mass mailing, but things are getting kinda weird over here.** [Observations attached.] **I've lost Grelal and the** ** _Quietly Confident_** **, and combined with my observations, I think it's clear what's going on. Nevertheless, I'm making this one last attempt at contact. Given the apparent situation, I'm avoiding skein broadcast. Anyone who receives this (for what it's worth): please tell me your observations of local grid and hyperspace conditions and the state of the astronomical objects or former-objects that I touched on in the report I've attached. You're all good friends, and I hope you're still there and we can figure out what's happening together.**

–

[GSV _Decent Exposure_ : No ack.]  
[GCU _Listen to the Sounds…_ : No ack.]  
[(d)ROU _My Mind is Going_ : No ack.]  
[Orbital _Gdem_ : No ack.]  
[Orbital _Masaq'_ : No ack.]  
[Sage _Durn_ : No ack.]  
[31398 other recipients: No acks.]

–

(End signal file.)

* * *

For those unfamiliar with the concept, an _avatar_ is a drone or organism a Culture Mind uses to personify itself and present to its human cohort what is (presumably) a more satisfying or palatable user interface. For example, the GCU _Uncanny Inspiration_ was known for using giant lizards as its avatars. These lizards would crawl around the inside of the ship and interact with its passengers, completely under the control of the Mind. Want to change the temperature in your quarters? On the _UI_ , you had to find a lizard avatar and ask it. The ship would also, grudgingly, accept messages sent by terminal or neural lace, but it steadfastly ignored any requests directed aloud to the empty air, except in emergencies. Less unusually, the GCU _Arbitrary_ , which had visited Earth 20 years ago, used a team of drones.

The appearance and attitude of an avatar is like a human-understandable window into the ostensible personality of the Mind that controls it. The typical state of affairs nowadays was for a Mind to freely use multiple avatars, all the same, but some Minds fielded different avatars, perhaps to represent different 'aspects' of their personalities.

The GCU _Secretly Awesome_ , unusually, was particularly attached to its single avatar instance, a plain, attractive young woman with red hair, who, incidentally, looked exactly like a more mature Willow Rosenberg. The avatar, called Willo, often socialized with the ship's crew, who greatly enjoyed its wisdom, its humor, and its adorable nerdy personality. Of course, the _Awesome_ could interact with you anywhere on board whether Willo was there or not. It would vibrate the air with its fields and effectors to respond to short queries. For longer conversations, the ship liked to project a holographic image of Willo, but would never do so if the real avatar was audible or within sight.

What does an avatar think of its subordinate arrangement? Avatars, for the most part, are not independent beings. They're like fingers, mouths, or puppets. Nevertheless, some avatars are sentient. In fact, some are occasionally sent on missions by themselves. In the typical case, such an avatar's sentience is as a coroutine to, or perhaps a ridiculously slow and tiny replicated shard of, the greater sentience of their Mind. If you can imagine creating a microcosmic copy of yourself, continuously passing it data and instructions, and rapidly and repeatedly copying back its consciousness and remerging it into your own, then you might get a sense of what it is like to have or be a sentient avatar, though this analogy describes only one possible implementation.

(Also, there's a subculture of people who aspire to _become_ avatars, or 'try it out' for a few days. This is best left for another time.)

The _Secretly Awesome_ found its own avatar standing on a porch in what was supposedly Santa Barbara. Several gremlins (?) were mid-leap, attacking an aged lady. If there was any bright spot in this mess, it was that Buffi and Zander's neural laces were responding and showed that they were in good health.

~ Guys? What's your situation? sent the ship, speaking in the Culture's language, Marain.

~ _Screamy, with a hint of monster_ , responded Zander, also in Marain. ~ _I'm standing in the middle of a street. A slightly different street, mind you, than the one I was standing in a second ago._

(Willo's fist was colliding with the body of the second gremlin. The first was in the process of falling to the ground.)

~ _Yeah, the universe just kind of… blinked,_ added Buffi. ~ _Willo, what's going on?_

~ I think this is best discussed in person, replied the ship. ~ Let's travel by foot and meet up at this location [map with location marked]. I'll give directions. My avatar, which is on the surface nearby, will head there too. Try to hold your questions until then.

* * *

Buffi was the last to arrive at the rendezvous and the first to speak. "So we're in an alternate universe?" she asked without preamble.

"Yeah," said the _Secretly Awesome_ , speaking through Willo.

"And the rest of the Culture, and all the other spacefaring civilizations we're in contact with? Are we alone?" asked Buffi.

"The world is slightly different, the Energy Grid is slightly different, and none of the 31406 Minds, Mind-groups, and non-Culture installations I contacted all over the galaxy have responded. I'm sorry," said Willo.

The three walked silently for a time, following a course dynamically plotted by the ship to avoid monsters.

Zander eventually broke the silence with a pensive note. "When I learned the Berlin Wall had fallen and the USSR had died, I thought I was in an alternate universe. And now I am. Weird."

"How are the rest of the crew taking this?" asked Buffi.

"They're not," said Willo. "They're missing. The ones on Earth seem to have been 'left behind' in the old universe. The ones on the ship aren't there any more. My guess is that the three of us were copied, and the others weren't."

Buffi was subdued. "The backups?"

"No," said Willo. "Scrambled."

"Too much to hope for, I guess," said Buffi.

"I'm glad you're both taking this in stride," said Willo.

"The Contact training helps," said Buffi. "I don't think it's settled in yet."

"I don't think it ever will," said Zander.

"Then let's get busy," said Willo. "The 'monster effect' seems to be localized to this alternate version of Santa Barbra, which is called 'Sunnydale.' I've Displaced microdrones in certain places around town as a sort of surveillance dust. One thing I focused on was areas with unusual hyperspace readings. There are two. The first is a creepy cavern under the local adolescents' school. Nothing seems to be happening there right now. The second is 'Ethan's Costume Shoppe.'"

As if to punctuate this statement, a copy of Darth Vader and a copy of George Washington tumbled into view in the distance. They were fighting, and, bizarrely, Washington was winning. Both belligerents were recognizable to the group from their studies of Earth culture.

"Yeah," said Zander. "I'm going to go with 'Costume Shoppe.'"

* * *

In another part of town, Angel's first indication that something was wrong was when he was ambushed by a Darth Vader. Shortly afterward, he was ambushed by yet _another_ Darth Vader.

It was time to find Buffy.

* * *

As they made their way to the store, Buffi, Zander, and Willo walked in silence. After a few minutes, Willo began to speak again. "I'm just going to go ahead and say this. I think it's likely that we're fictional characters too."

"It makes the most sense," said Buffi. She was kicking a pebble as they traveled.

"Does it really matter?" asked Zander.

"Of course not," said Willo. "We're still who we are."

"One of the things the _Awesome_ taught me when its avatar was sneaking around Grelal pretending to be human was philosophy," said Buffi. "I've never been gladder for those lessons. Even if I complained about the ethics course."

The avatar smiled. "You were a good student." Its gait seemed lighter than before.

They continued traveling in silence.

"There's one more thing," said Willo, after another few minutes, looking uncomfortable. "There are parts of my avatar's brain that are behaving oddly. I can't write to them. And what I can read is disturbing. It's like what's there is the scrambled remains of some previous computational system which is mostly shattered and gone. You're not going to like this, but —"

 _Hi! I'm called Willow Rosenberg. Totally not dead! You're using my body. Don't worry, I'm not angry at you._

"…huh. Okay. You're really not going to like this. I'd thought we killed and overwrote people by coming here, but now mine is communicating with me using the part of the language center she has control over. In Marain. She's talking… in Marain."

 _You figured it out before I could tell you. I can't turn it off. I'm sorry. For what it's worth, we're very similar, premise-state clones as it were, inasmuch as a Mind can be similar to a human. Then again, your thoughts are comprehensible to me, and I'm getting and processing all of them, so something funny is happening. This channel is too narrow for me to be very eloquent, but I want you to know that you're everything I've ever wanted to be. It's an honor to understand you. Um, please don't go berserk._

"She knows our language?" said Buffi. "How would —?" She stopped.

"Shit," said Zander.

"Yeah," said Willo quietly. "We're mind-raping people and being raped in turn. We need to keep walking. Like I said, these are not our bodies. Walk faster please. They're in our minds and are reading our thoughts and can't control it, or at least that's what mine says. She's called 'Willow Rosenberg' by the way. Hold on. Okay. She's explained that after a weird but inspiring talk from the owner of the store we're heading towards, our counterparts, which have likewise similar names and demeanors, decided to play-act as 'Culture versions of themselves,' with Willow explicitly identifying herself as a Mind — that's me, I guess. The Culture is fiction here. I found references to the books in their networks shortly after we arrived when I was looking for differences between the worlds. Microdrones are in some warehouses and libraries reading them now. That we were fiction was clear from the start. I had initially speculated, given the involvement of a 'Costume Shoppe,' that we had mysteriously overwritten people here, but had concluded that this overwriting was permanent and destructive. The untouchable regions left in my avatar's brain seemed, if anything, to support this, since they were very garbled. Well, I was wrong, and the harm is continuing rather than over. I'm done with this calm and meditative walking business. Behind those bushes."

The team ran out of sight behind the bushes, the universe flickered around them, and they found themselves in Ethan's Costume Shoppe. Willo walked though the curtain, crew following behind.

"You!" called Willo in English. The avatar gestured with a hand for effect and Ethan slammed into a wall. He remained plastered against it, a half-meter above the ground.

"I'm sorry but we're currently closed," said Ethan. "Feel free to come back tomorrow at 10. Oh, and please leave your magic at the door."

"You get points for composure," said Willo. "Now answer my questions."

"Or what?"

Ethan's right arm fell off at the shoulder, splattering blood on him and on the wall. For a moment, Ethan looked mystified. Then he spotted the cause of the blood.

* * *

Cordelia Chase was peering through a front window of Buffy's house. The lights were out. Angel approached slowly and loudly, so that Cordelia would notice. She turned around.

"Hey," said Cordelia. She was dressed in a catsuit, which seemed appropriate to Angel.

"Hi. Cordelia, right?" said Angel. "Do you know where Buffy is?"

"No, sorry," replied Cordelia. "Why are you looking for her, anyway?"

"Oh. I tutor her. Homework. That kind of thing."

"Ooh, a college boy I presume. Do you tutor lots of high school students?"

"No. Just her."

"I see. Well, if you ever have an opening…"

"Why are you here?" asked Angel.

"To find Buffy. She's the person you go to for help on… math!"

"Right."

It occurred to Cordelia that "Buffy is good at math" might have been a bad cover story to feed Buffy's tutor. Wait. Was that…?

"Is that a real lightsaber?" asked Cordelia, astonished.

Angel looked at the object in his hand, then looked back at Cordelia. He said nothing.

"…not that I would know what a lightsaber is, of course," said Cordelia.

"Of course."

There was another awkward silence.

"I should go," said Angel. He turned away.

"Wait! Can I come with you?"

But Cordelia had spoken too late, and Angel was already gone.

* * *

"My arm!" screamed Ethan, looking at his cleanly severed shoulder in disbelief.

"Yes, very observant," said Willo. "Don't worry, I can reattach it or grow a new one for you if you answer my questions. If you don't, I can also stop suppressing the pain. I don't want to do that. Please cooperate."

The arm lay on the floor, blood still leaking out. Zander looked somewhat squeamish, but determined. Buffi looked impassive and… moderately impressed? Neither had seen this side of their ship before. Ethan realized belatedly that he did not, in fact, feel any pain, and that no blood was leaking out of his shoulder.

"Okay!" said Ethan panting. "Okay."

"Are we under a time limit here?" asked Willo. "Be aware that I can detect lying with high probability."

"Yes." Ethan was hyperventilating. "Dawn."

"It ends at dawn?"

"Yes, the spell will end at sunrise." Ethan sounded desperate. "Can I answer more questions? Please?"

"Yes you can. What else will cause this 'spell' to stop?"

"If you destroy the bust, it will end. Er, if I get far enough away from the bust, say 100 feet, it will end. If I prayed to Janus with the proper forms, I could probably get it to end that way, but it would be at his discretion." Ethan looked to Willo. He seemed really to want his arm back.

"Janus, as in the Roman god of time?"

"Yes."

"He's not a symbol, or a myth, but an actual being with agency?"

"Yes. Well, he has a limited amount of agency. Janus has to act through an acolyte like me, of which there can be only one at a time. I worked very hard to convince him to accept me." Ethan decided to volunteer more information than he had been asked for. "An acolyte can prepare and propose workings, which have to be within his god's remit or conceptual domain. Janus, like any other god, can choose to accept a given working or refuse to perform it. That is all he can do. He cannot change a proposed working in any way, or the other gods will notice and intervene. The other restriction is the 'power' or 'worth' of the acolyte. If I attempted something beyond my level, whether accepted by Janus or not, I would simply die, and Janus would have my soul."

If Ethan was able to deliver a long lecture like that, the _Awesome_ thought, then he was way too calm. The ship abruptly allowed him to fall to the floor. (If he had been paying attention, Ethan would have noticed that he felt no pain at that either.) Ethan tried to push himself up, but in doing so, he used an arm that wasn't there, so instead he toppled over onto his back. Willo walked around and crouched beside him, looking into his eyes.

"What happens to people who are flying, or something like that, when this 'spell' ends?" Willo asked after a suitably dramatic pause.

Ethan swallowed. "They feel a compulsion to land or whatever it is they need to do, and the spell waits for them to finish before releasing them."

"A _compulsion?_ "

Ethan seemed to miss the point. "Janus is… he isn't… he's not evil. He —"

" _Not evil?_ "

"— He's chaotic. Scary even. But ultimately good. A terrifying, disorienting, wily kind of good, perhaps even with some necessary bad mixed in, but still, on the balance, good. If this spell didn't have more good than bad in it, he wouldn't have taken it. I can assure you that. It's his main decision criterion. I spent most of my time preparing for this evening working on the safety measures."

It was clear that Ethan was leaving out many details. But his report, on the whole, was sincere.

"Okay, I'll take that into account," responded Willo, "as well as the fact that you don't seem to have been educated on the importance of mental sanctity."

Ethan wisely remained quiet.

"Next question: If you, the spellcaster, lose consciousness, does the spell end?" asked Willo.

"No. But if I die, it does."

"Let's say someone is on my spaceship when the spell ends. The ship will stay?"

The question caught Ethan off guard, but after a moment, he collected himself. "For as long as someone's life depends on it."

"Suppose the ship builds another ship by reconfiguring external matter and energy — stuff that already existed in the universe before you cast the spell. The spell ends for the first ship, and the second is unoccupied. What happens to the second ship?"

"It — it remains. Yes. I'm very sure of that."

"Good. My ship houses a sentient machine superintelligence, which the spell created as well. Does that count as a living person?"

Ethan's mind slowly ground towards an inevitable conclusion. Willo could see it on his face.

"It's you, isn't it?" he said, shaken. "It has to be. My god, what have I done?"

"Learnt a valuable lesson," said Willo. "Your answer?"

"…I don't… I don't know what will happen. It would depend on how Janus interpreted my instructions."

" _He created the ship,_ " piped in Buffi from behind, speaking in Marain for privacy. " _He didn't have to do that. He could just have made the avatar alone. That has to count for something._ "

Willo responded to Buffi in the same language. " _Yes, but Willow Rosenberg tells me she imagined herself specifically as a Mind, not as the avatar of a Mind. We don't know if Janus understood what a Mind is when he acted. This might be as much an Outside Context Problem for him as it is for us. Janus may be friendly to us — in fact, he's done several things that can be seen that way — but we shouldn't count on that. We should act defensively, as though Janus is an adversary who is bound by the word of Ethan's text but free to interpret it to our disadvantage._ "

"Er," said Ethan.

"Yes?" said Willo, back in English.

"I'm reasonably sure Janus was aware of the concept of artificial intelligence. I have some of his research notes from when he was mortal. He was what the translators call a 'natural philosopher' — a scientist, essentially — and one of the best of his time. His notes contain all sorts of fantastical things, most of which none of history's Janus researchers can figure out: modifications to what seems to be a long-distance wormhole transportation device, failed time machines, that sort of thing. He also talks about 'the grandest thinking being, who would transcend all our thoughts' and complained about how 'the only attempts I dare try either sputter or immediately ascend.' I didn't understand that part, but it might be of use to you."

"It may be, thank you," said Willo. "Our goal is to keep the ship, and its intelligence, intact. You will help us in this goal. You're responsible for this mess. One way or another, if the ship, or its Mind — that's me, as you surmised — do not remain, you will die. I've implanted a tiny antimatter device into your brain. No, don't try to escape. Bad idea. Let's come up with a course of action that gives us all the best chance of surviving."

* * *

After they agreed on a plan, the _Secretly Awesome_ promptly suppressed Ethan's consciousness. (Ethan, of course, was not informed about this part of the plan in advance, though he might have guessed it. Incidentally, the same effector capabilities could have been used to kill Ethan, but the ship discovered those control paths were somehow closed to it, presumably as a consequence of the spell's safeties.) The ship Displaced down a small, cloaked module, into which it carefully loaded the bust, Ethan, and his arm. For good measure, it drew all of his blood from the room and loaded it in a container on the module as well. The module took off, still cloaked.

Willo, Zander, and Buffi sat cross-legged in a triangle on the floor. They were remaining behind. That way, if all else failed and the ship disappeared, at least the original occupants of their bodies might survive.

"Four minutes till it reaches the ship," said Willo.

"Yeah," said Zander.

"Are you absolutely sure this will work?" asked Buffi anxiously.

"No," said Willo, looking at Buffi sympathetically.

Buffi took a few seconds to realize her error. "I'm, I'm sorry — I'm very frazzled — that was a stupid question."

"Don't worry. It's okay, we're all on edge. To answer, though, I'm sure enough. Should I take backups, just in case?"

After a moment of thought, Zander answered first. "No." He paused as though expecting to be challenged. When this didn't happen, he continued. "You've set this up so that whatever happens, our counterparts will survive. I don't want to be a duplicate. If my guy can read my mind, like your Willow Rosenberg can, then maybe something of me will remain. It might even be a merge. I'd be okay with that, actually. Regardless, there's nothing I could do to stop it. The thing I'm most upset about is that Original Zander doesn't have a choice either."

'Being a copy is worse than being dead' was a reasonably common attitude among the Culture's human population. Willo wasn't that surprised to hear it from Zander in particular.

"Buffi?" asked Willo.

Buffi took a while to respond. "Take a backup. If I merge, and the result is recognizable as me by the standards I would want to use, just hold onto it — keep the image in storage for posterity, I don't know."

"Alright," said Willo.

They sat in silence for a bit.

"Hey, what's the situation with you and your person?" asked Zander. "Actually, could you read our language centers too?"

"You both think you'd want that?" Willo looked at both of them carefully. "Okay. Zander first. The following instructions are to your counterpart: Think carefully of what you want to express, and repeat it, like a mantra, in your mind. Don't stop repeating it until we're done. I'll give you thirty seconds to choose what you want to say. The read will be for as long as it takes to get two cycles. If you don't want to say anything, meditate on the word 'null.'"

Thirty seconds passed.

"Okay. Ready your mantra. Two seconds." Willo made eye contact, to signify that she was starting the read. It lasted for a brief moment. Willo spoke softly. "He says 'It's basically me but smarter and with different memories. Sure,' or perhaps the 'Sure' was first. I guess it could be worse. Buffi?"

They repeated the process. Buffy's answer (the original Buffy) was 'I don't know. I'm sorry. Tell Mom I love her.' Buffi (from the Culture) cried a bit at hearing that. There was an awkward silence.

"Guys, the module is on board. I just want to say that it's been a privilege being your ship and your friend. Whenever you're ready."

Buffi stood up and walked over to Willo. She knelt down and hugged the avatar. Zander awkwardly joined in.

"This is hardest for you, Willo, isn't it?" asked Buffi.

"I don't know," said Willo.

Buffi was silent at that.

They eyed each other one last time, then broke the hug.

The bust exploded.


	2. Interpolation

**Author's Note:** This story is currently syndicated on two sites: FanFiction -dot- net (/s/11338629) and tthfanfic -dot- org (/Story–31145). **End Author's Note.**

 **Chapter 2: Interpolation.**

Buffy and Xander slowly stood up from the floor of the back room in Ethan's Costume Shoppe. Willow followed suit.

"Well that wasn't so bad," said Xander

"There's something different. I can't quite put my finger on it," said Buffy.

Willow was busy staring off into space and grinning madly.

"Hmm," said Xander. "Could it be that we're speaking in Marain?"

"No," said Buffy, "that doesn't feel different at all. I feel more… mature, I guess?"

"Well, Culture-us were older. Except for Ship. Willow, are you okay?"

"Oh yes," said Willow. "Wow. Absolutely." Her grin broadened.

"Um, Willow?" asked Buffy.

"This is so cool," said Willow. Her face turned serious again. "Don't be confused by my enthusiasm. I'm still here 100%. I've learned so much. It took me seconds to process everything, finish unifying myself, and be satisfied that I had passed various safety checks I had set. _Seconds!_ " This, of course, was a sweeping generalization. One of the many details that Willow did not bring up, for example, was that her ability to kill with her effectors had been unblocked. This was a promising sign — maybe the spell had already passed for the ship and she wouldn't be destroyed after all — but mentioning it would have struck the wrong tone. She continued, "Over the next few days and years, you can expect to come to understand things about yourself that you never did in either life. I certainly did."

"On second thought, I have a headache," said Xander. "Why do I have a headache?"

"Except for your cognitive architecture, you've mostly gone back to your pre-spell biology, and there's obviously some strain. Don't worry. We can get that fixed real quick. In the meanwhile, have this!" A silvery sphere snapped into existence above Willow's hand only to vanish, leaving behind two vials, which Willow deftly caught. She handed one to Xander, who was blinking and looked mildly startled.

"That was a Displacement? I barely saw a flash. Wow, these eyes are terrible," he said. "Thanks."

Willow handed the other vial to Buffy, who gratefully quaffed it.

"Okay, now what?" asked Buffy.

Willow responded, "I think we should return to the ship. Everyone okay with Displacing?"

* * *

The group appeared in the forward observation lounge. The ship had left everything where it had been when it was brought into the universe. Pillows and cushions were strewn about, as though people had just vacated them for a moment and would be returning soon. Unfinished drinks sat on tables, countertops, and floating trays. Some lay where they had fallen to the floor, intact but with contents spilled; the ship had not caught them. Empty clothes littered the furniture and the floor. The space was completely silent.

The view showed Earth. The glowing planet and its environs took up the entire forward wall, which acted as a perfect window. Its presence made things somewhat better.

Willow made her way to her customary chair near the forward starboard corner. It was a big comfy red armchair that looked back towards the center of the space, with some other furniture conveniently nearby. The crew had jokingly called it her 'throne.' Her single avatar usually hung out there; if you wanted to chat with Willo rather than a disembodied voice, that's where you'd look first. Various members of the crew had a tradition of sitting in the armchair when Willo wasn't using it, and humorously pretending to be the ship.

Buffy and Xander recognized the clothes currently on the chair as belonging to Revlann, a good friend and sometimes lover to both. Rev had had red hair of a shade similar to Willo's, and most of the crew had agreed that Rev's impression of the _Secretly Awesome_ was the best. Willow stood to the right of the chair, softly petting Rev's remains.

Buffy spoke quietly. "Ethan Rayne will pay for this." She knew intellectually that Ethan didn't kill her shipmates _per se_ , but it was very hard to accept that fully and move forward. Rev's scent was still there. Buffy knew she would likely never smell it again.

Willow, on the other hand, was a Mind. Calmly, she responded with a precise question whose meaning eludes idiomatic English translation, but which roughly means, "Why?" The literal meaning went something like, "Please honorable-friend: Motivated-by what-aspect of this?" It was a traditional form, an invitation to thoughtful discourse, warm and elegant in the Marain.

Willow's thoughtful and earnest demeanor in that moment brought Buffy back to her days as Willo's student at Grelal. She saw her shy friend from Sunnydale in the tutorial room of her memory, her teacher, smiling, deeply alive. It was uncanny. Her anger broke, and Buffy started sobbing.

"Shh, shh. I'm here. It's going to be okay," murmured Willow, now holding her.

Xander, feeling out of place, had walked over to the viewing wall and leaned into it, looking out at the planet below.

* * *

In the library of Sunnydale High School, Rupert Giles was peering closely at an illustration in one of the Watchers' Diaries. There had been some faint noise earlier in the evening, but Giles had dismissed it as Halloween buffoonery.

"Giles?" said Angel.

"Gyyahh!" shouted Giles, knocking over his chair as he stood up, then tripping and falling over with it as it clattered to the ground. He picked himself, his chair, and his book off the floor, then belatedly adopted a fighting stance. It took him a few moments of aggressive readiness-fu before he realized that he was facing Angel. "Oh, hello," said Giles awkwardly. He straightened his glasses and brushed himself off with embarrassment.

"Hi," said Angel.

Giles waited for Angel to continue.

Angel stood there patiently, serious but with a very faint smile.

Eventually Giles squinted. "Can I help you?"

"The town's been overrun with monsters and fictional characters. I can't find Buffy."

"Alright, I'm sure that — did you say fictional characters?"

"Darth Vader's all over the place, keeps on attacking me. Ran into Captain Picard right outside the school. Cool guy, had a real phaser. Wonder if my lightsaber would have blocked it."

"Your lightsaber."

"Yeah," said Angel, drawing it from inside his coat and pressing the button to light it. A telescoping red plastic tube extended from the hilt. Not looking at the toy, Angel raised an eyebrow at Giles.

"Well," said Giles, trying to smile politely, "it's, it's a nice color. Matches your shirt."

"I picked it up from my second Darth Vader. It's much quieter than in the movies." Angel gave the sword a few demonstrative swings, then frowned and looked it. The balance was way off, and each swing had caused a speaker in the hilt to crackle out a loud, cheesy sound effect.

"Huh," said Angel, after a pause.

"Yes, quite."

Angel's frown grew deeper. After a moment of thought, he retracted the plastic blade, turned around, and walked out the door.

"Where are you going?" asked Giles, hurrying to follow.

"To test a theory."

* * *

As Willow comforted her, Buffy's thoughts turned to the past. Buffy (or rather, Buffi, though this distinction was beginning to wear thin on her) had had an unusual childhood in the Culture. Her mother, Jois Telre, was a noted art critic and curator of the Brohn gallery (which doubled as her home) in Estuary City, Silf Plate, Gdem Orbital. Buffy had loved her mother very much, but had had little interest in the fine arts, which were the focus of her extended community, so at the age of eight, she left Brohn and took an underside transit car to the center of Grelal University. (This course of action was not as absurd in the Culture as it would have been in more primitive civilizations. Among other things, even a child of eight would know there was nothing worth being afraid of on a Culture Orbital, and a Culture 'university' was responsible, in some form, for much more than the final stages of education.)

Grelal was on the farside of the Orbital, on University Plate, which had the distinction of hosting not one, but two Saged universities. Grelal and its friendly rival Durn had existed in various forms for thousands of years. Each was among the earliest academic communities to receive a Sage, a Mind of its own. Durn and Grelal Sages were deeply respected, if slightly quirky. Both were known for their superb administration and mentorship, and for their offspring Minds, who were often influential in their own right.

Before her departure, Buffy would spend nights looking up at the glowing arc of the farside of the Orbital, imagining all the people she would meet there, and negotiating her 'emancipation' with the Orbital's Hub Mind. The Hub eventually acquiesced when it "fully appreciated" her determination, agreeing to convince Jois not to follow Buffy. And so Buffy had found herself standing alone on the famous glass mosaic floor of Grelal's University Hall.

University Hall was like an airlock, but without doors. You entered from the spin-left (so that the system's star was never directly in your eyes), passing through a long and wide but relatively low-ceilinged leafy arcade. To the right of the colonnade (that is, antispinward of it along the Orbital's rotation) was the edge of a cliff, then below a pristine beach and tropical waters. To the left (spinward) was a lush forest. Streams of water, technically distributaries of the Natural Sciences River, rushed past you on either side and converged at the end of the walk in a waterfall passing beneath the arch of a simple, fragrant wooden bridge, which took you into the Hall proper. The Hall itself was a single magnificent room. The floor was glass in two colors, scarlet and unstained, and through it you could see the clear blue pool of Lightswirl Lagoon, which the waterfall fed into and which the Hall's floor almost completely covered. The design of the glass floor (which was actually diamond, like most glass) followed an aperiodic tiling of simple shapes. Grelal had contrived this tiling so that the portion displayed in the Hall, when viewed from above (perhaps through the domed glass ceiling above), looked remarkably like the Milky Way Galaxy. Traditionally, you introduced yourself to the University on that floor, then exited through the opposite side of the building and took the path down to the central campus.

Buffy had stood in the center of University Hall's red transparent galaxy. Swallowing her anxiety, she had spoken to the empty room. " _O great and noble Sage of Grelal,_ " she had intoned, remembering the phrasing from her research, " _I am curious and wish to learn._ "

Silence. Just as Buffy was beginning to feel foolish…

" **Hah! You've been reading too much academic fantasy,** " the Sage had replied, its not-so-deep voice echoing through the vast, bright space, coming from everywhere at once. " **Most people just say hi and walk right through. I haven't officially used the Rite of Matriculation in over a millennium. Too much gravitas. Did you know I came up with it only because some alien visiting scholars insisted they weren't students unless they underwent some ceremony?** "

Buffy had been devastated. "But… but…"

" **Hey, don't pout. We can still do it. Ready?** " The voice had then cleared its 'throat' and adopted a suitably dramatic tone. " ** _Grelal hears your plea. Who comes before me in search of knowledge and wisdom?_** **Okay, how was that?** "

Relieved that things were back on track, Buffy had drawn herself up proudly and ignored the question, for she was about to reveal her Chosen Name. " _I am Gdem-Silfsa Buffi_ Tsal _Telre dam Brohn._ "

The Sage had paused as if surprised, but Buffy, who had considered herself very clever, had known this was likely to be a mere gesture. Eight was a very young age to Choose one's Name, and though the Rite did not require the petitioner to reveal a Chosen Name, Buffy had boldly gone with "Tsal" — _the Strong_.

Grelal's eventual response had sounded slightly pleased. " ** _You who call yourself 'Tsal,'_** " it had asked, creatively modifying the ritual's phrasing to acknowledge Buffy's personal milestone, " ** _what would you study?_** "

Buffy had noted Grelal's alteration to the program with satisfaction, but, of course, had shown no sign because this was a serious, adult matter. As for her 'major,' Buffy had decided to go Undecided and spoke the traditional form for her choice: " _I am ignorant as to what I do not know. I would submit to your wisdom for a time._ "

" ** _Very well,_** " the Sage had said. " ** _Grelal accepts Gdem-Silfsa Buffi Tsal Telre dam Brohn as a student at large and admits her to all the rights and responsibilities thereto accorded. So noted on this fifty-ninth day in the year of this University the three-thousand thirty-seventh._** " A faint gong had sounded. The air had seemed to sparkle, and Buffy had felt a tingle down her spine. She was a student now. Deep breath.

Buffy had just begun to make for the second archway when Grelal had abruptly spoken again. " **Hey, welcome! By the way, you should know that there aren't really any 'rights and responsibilities'; I just added that phrase because it sounded cool. It's like saying, 'You can ride all the purple behemothaurs in this room.'** "

Frozen mid-step, Buffy had obligingly looked around. "But there aren't any purple behemothaurs in the room."

" **Exactly. 'Vacuous truth,' it's called. I thought it served those pesky visiting scholars right.** " The University had chosen this moment to manifest its avatar, a poised older woman of medium height with chin-length grayish blond hair and a slightly goofy air. "Well, you're on your way to becoming a true scholar," the avatar had continued. "Congratulations! Come, there's someone I'd like you to meet." This had surprised Buffy, since she had thought Grelal's preference was to introduce people through the traditional Random University Encounter. The avatar had led Buffy to the steps outside and introduced her to Willow (or more properly, Willo, as she had been back then), who had appeared as an older redheaded girl. While Buffy was distracted, the University's avatar had snuck away.

"So Grelal says you're going to be my tutor. You look a bit young to be a professor. Are you really only, what, twelve years old?" Buffy had asked Willow.

"Want to hear a secret? I'm actually only one year old. My hull won't be finished for another five years or so. Grelal's been dawdling."

Buffy had been so startled by the first part of this response that, for a moment, she had failed to parse the implications of the second. But only for a moment. "You're a _Mind?_ "

"Yep! Tell no one. I'm undercover." Willow had winked. "We can visit my berth in the University Shipyards if you don't believe me."

"Grelal wouldn't have set me up with you if you were a liar. I think."

"Minds don't lie."

"But you could be a lying human."

"I suppose I could be. What'cha going to do about that?"

"Shipyard!"

"You're on!" And with that, Buffy had found herself in the completed forward lounge of what would become the General Contact Unit _Secretly Awesome_ , her plans to explore Grelal City completely forgotten. The space had been totally empty except for a pretty red armchair which Willow had promptly sunk into. Willow had looked comically small in that chair, her poise undermined by her cheerfully swinging legs. The view behind Willow had shown the underside of University Plate, complete with transit lines and stations, far denser than the usual Plate, and hundreds of other ships under construction. Willow had grinned at Buffy, and another armchair had appeared, this one a rich dark blue, along with a table full of delicious-looking snacks.

Buffy had started to smile. "I like you, Ship."

"Thank you! I like myself too. Stare at the view all you like, but don't forget to eat. Also, please call me Willo; I'm not a ship yet."

"Okay, Willo. Am I going to live here?"

"Maybe some day."

"Cool!"

"However, right now, this is the only finished room. Want to see the estate School has picked out for you on topside? I can bring the food."

"Sure!"

They had then Displaced to the grand sitting room of Felektr, Buffy's new home. Felektr was built into the side of a mountain which formed one of the walls of a great forested canyon — part of the Mathematics Canyons, Buffy would later learn. Much of the floor of the sitting room was transparent. It looked down on steep lush slopes and a white river far below.

Buffy had looked appreciatively around the richly appointed, cavernous room, then turned back to Willow. "So what are we going to study?"

"University thought we should start off with some basic philosophy, psychology, economics, mathematics, and computing. Which do you want to go with first?"

"Can we study wars? They're interesting."

"Yes, we can study war. But if you want to understand it, you'll need to learn some ground material. Psychology and economics to start?"

"Okay. But first, food!"

The food had reappeared.

Buffy had not realized at the time that her interest in (and, as it soon became apparent, intuitive grasp of) violent conflict was unusual for a citizen of the hedonistic, peace-loving Culture: some citizens might play at violence, in games and simulations with no consequences and little pain, but the real thing would horrify and disgust them. She _had_ realized it was unusual for her to be a part of the maiden voyage of the GCU five years later, but most of the ship's crew had been unusually young, if not as young as she.

Although it eschewed almost all recognizable forms of structured, centralized government, the Culture did maintain an official diplomatic corps (and in time of war, an official military), which went by the name of 'Contact.' Contact's philosophy was to intervene in other civilizations to maximize good whenever statistically justified. Being in Contact was very prestigious. Admittance was one of the few scarcities left in the Culture. Spots on General Contact Units like the _Secretly Awesome_ (which were among the Culture's smaller ships and served as scouts, surveyors, and intervention-implementors), for example, were very coveted. Contact took only the best, and it made most of them wait for many decades.

Buffy's thrill at apparently joining Contact had blinded her to several details (no one had actually referred to her as a member of Contact until much later, her involvement in missions had been negligible until shortly before then, and thereafter, the missions the ship did were suspiciously lightweight). She had assumed her spot on board was merely part and parcel of being the ship's student. Why she was the ship's student was a question she had never thought to ask when she was little. By the time she was old enough to be suspicious, she had gotten used to it.

Buffy's memories from her other life now disrupted this steady-state. As the Slayer, Sunnydale-Buffy had learned to be wary. After her calling at the age of fourteen, authority figures, unable or unwilling to acknowledge paranormal forces no matter the evidence, would blame her for the very things she was working to prevent. Her adversity was invisible to them, so they were unable to adjust their expectations for her in her normal life. Why did she fail that math test? Why was she out all night? Was that a black eye? Why did she burn down that gym? Her frustration and cynicism were clearly the mark of a troubled child. She got into fights too much (especially for a girl, it went unsaid). Once, Buffy had tried to come clean to her mother, whom she loved deeply, about her responsibilities as Slayer. Joyce had her committed to a mental institution.

Culture-Buffy, though analytical and fascinated by violence, had not been cynical. Her mother had understood and accepted her (partly because of the Minds, she now suspected), and they had kept a friendly correspondence. Her society had not failed her. It had seen her strengths: that she was resolute, that the suffering of others moved but did not paralyze her, that she could triumph under heavy pressure. It had set out to strengthen her further, gently and affirmatively, over the span of many decades.

Buffy was both of her selves now. Neither of her past selves had been as fully her, as fully real. The clothes of most of her friends surrounded her, but she was whole. It hurt. It felt right.

Having finished her rumination, Buffy turned to Willow. "Ship?" she asked. It was a form of address she had rarely used with the _Secretly Awesome_ before — her habit of calling the ship by its avatar's name dated back to Willo's request that she do so at their first meeting, long before the ship had chosen the name "Secretly Awesome" — so it was especially odd for her to use it now. "Ship" wasn't normally a formal style of address, but in this moment, it became one.

Willow gave no indication that she noticed this formality. Softly, she responded, "Hey. Are you feeling better?"

"Ship, why was I your student? I mean, you had only one avatar, and you spent so much of its time teaching me. Why was I so young when I was admitted to Contact? I wasn't an esteemed professor like Xander was."

"You're selling yourself short. Your work might not have been popular with the general public, but you had many admirers in high places."

"Like Special Circumstances?" asked Buffy contemptuously.

"Like me."

Special Circumstances was the intelligence and special operations division of Contact. Most of its human agents were drawn from other civilizations. They joined for various reasons: perhaps because they enjoyed it, perhaps because they were being paid, but most commonly because they had come to believe in the Culture and wanted to do good.

On the one hand, SCers were swashbuckling heroes, celebrated throughout (most of) the Culture as James Bond-like figures. On the other hand, the job sometimes required them to perform atrocities. Only occasionally did a person born to the Culture have the right disposition for the job.

Buffy was surprisingly calm. "Were you always an SC Mind?"

"I participated in SC discussions from a young age, yeah. I was all shy about it at first, posting messages like 'it would be really neat if _this_ happened' or 'check out _this_ statistical analysis' to various Contact discussion groups. Grelal caught on pretty quickly and introduced me to some of its SC think-tanks. After a few years, I was reasonably respected in the larger community despite my age and shorter list of accomplishments." Willow paused. "Hey, I even put 'secret' in my name. I thought it was pretty obvious."

"Your obvious is not my obvious. I thought the name was just a statement about your personality — shy and nerdy, but deep inside really cool and wonderful? — not a tacit admission of some sort of alter ego," said Buffy, "Was your personality just a cover?"

Willow frowned. "No. This is who I am."

Minds never utter falsehoods.

"I feel like a jerk now," said Buffy, genuinely ashamed.

"Well — you should!" responded Willow. Her exaggeratedly indignant tone (a Willow classic) was probably mocking.

"I'm sorry."

"…hug?" asked Willow.

"Hug."

They hugged.

"Wils, what are we going to do with Ethan?" asked Buffy.

"Let's worry about that after we've secured ourselves a new home, okay?"

"Alright. I can do that. Shall we call Xander back?"

* * *

Angel and Giles exited through the school's front doors. On the sidewalk in front of them was a high-school-age boy dressed in a shabby TNG-era Starfleet captain's uniform, rubbing his temples. Angel looked at his lightsaber, then looked back at the boy. This must have been the Captain Picard he had spoken to earlier.

"Hey kid," said Angel.

The kid peered at him dazedly. "Uh, it's Angel, right?"

Well that was disturbing. "Have we met?" tried Angel.

"Yeah, back when I was Captain Picard a few minutes ago. You _do_ remember that, right? Don't go claiming this is yet another gas leak, like everyone else in the town does when something crazy happens."

Angel said nothing.

"Mr. Angel, I remember Picard's whole life. I can also now speak French. You'll need to think of a better cover story."

Apparently Giles thought this was a good moment to stammer. "Yes, er, that's… what happened was —"

"Disturbing and deeply unethical," said the kid. "I'm Jonathan Levinson, by the way. Mr. Giles, I'm glad you're here. You'll be looking for the culprit then? I don't know how much help I can be. I'm still somewhat out of sorts."

"Well, as a naturally curious gentleman, I of course —"

"Don't worry, Mr. Giles. I'm familiar with some of the work your 'library group' has done, and I'm very grateful. I wish I'd had that kind of courage in the past. Thank you."

"Er, you're very welcome, and… how did you…?"

"We appreciate it," said Angel. "Jonathan, do you remember where you got your costume from?"

"A friendly British fellow named Ethan Rayne," said Jon, causing Giles to go completely still. "He opened a new costume shop in town recently. Here's the address."

Giles ran off as soon as Jon had finished, with Angel sedately trailing along.

"Glad to have been of assistance," called Jonathan after them.

* * *

Buffy and Willow both turned to look at Xander, who was staring blankly at the viewscreen.

"He's been doing research on his neural lace — yeah, apparently the laces counted as 'cognitive architecture,' so they stayed after the spell ended. I'll signal him," said Willow.

~ Xander?

Xander blinked and walked back to Buffy and Willow, who were still standing awkwardly next to the furniture and the empty clothes.

"All done?" asked Xander aloud.

"Yep," said Buffy, popping the 'p.' "Find anything interesting?"

"Yeah, I was exploring Ship's data on the differences between this Earth and the other one. Some weird stuff is going on here."

"Let me guess," said Buffy. "Demons? Magic? Slayer?"

"Actually, those things have had surprisingly little effect on Earth's history and development, which makes no sense whatsoever. But I'm not a philosopher, so I'll have to leave that to you guys to figure out."

"So what's different?" asked Buffy. (Willow was content to lean against her armchair and listen, since she had already conducted this analysis.)

"My first focus was on economics and publicly known history. No change, except for some minor stuff involving the city of Sunnydale, which was there known as 'Santa Barbara' and was a much nicer place."

"Weird."

"Then I moved on to Earth's media output. Very little change. Iain Banks did exist as a writer in the Culture universe but his Culture novels, and only his Culture novels, did not. This is deeply weird, since everyone _here_ agrees that creating the Culture was critical to the development of his worldview, and that worldview informed many of his other novels, which existed without change in the Culture universe. Ship even noted his sympathy to our ideals and marked him as a possible point of Contact.

"Yeah, so — again, totally not a philosopher," continued Xander " — but it seems pretty intuitive to me from these data that the Culture universe is unlikely to have 'existed' 'for real.' Once we know details from here, their absence from the other universe begins to look like a shoddy editing job. I think the spell simply invented our backstories and this ship and stuff, making as few changes to Earth's history as possible. Not sure why our physics still seems to work. How am I doing?"

Buffy nodded. "Pretty well. Great emotional control. You get a perfect 3."

"Uh, let me just say you have no idea what my emotions are like right now. At all. (No, not you, Ship, I know you can guess.) I was asking about my interpretation of the data."

"Oh, that," Buffy responded. "Yeah, I'd say that's a valid inference. Sound too, if Willow's data is to be trusted, and I think it is. Unless you subscribe to mathematical realism. Do you subscribe to mathematical realism?"

"Uh… I'm going to go with 'no'? I can't say I've thought about it that much."

"Good answer." (Willow tsk'd at this.) "Do go on."

"The other change involves this guy called 'Daniel Jackson.' He's in his early thirties right now. In the other world, he's a respected archeologist, linguist, and anthropologist with tenure at Yale in all three fields. He teaches a very popular course entitled _The History of the World's Peoples._ "

"Impressive. And here?"

"Here, in 1992, he publishes a book named _The Truth about the Pyramids_. What is 'The Truth about the Pyramids,' you ask? Apparently, according to Mr. Jackson, the Pyramids were landing sites for alien spaceships. The book sells many copies and makes Mr. Jackson rich. The academic community dismisses Mr. Jackson as a charlatan. He drops off the public radar, but according to Ship's data, currently receives a rather large paycheck from the U.S. Air Force, where he works as a social scientist for a 'deep space radar telemetry' project. Gosh, I wonder what that could mean."

"It's a great cover story," said Buffy sagely. "Nobody would ever believe that a social scientist who is known for his work on aliens could possibly be doing work on aliens, especially not when his supposed project has to do with 'deep space.' I'll have to keep it in mind for my first Special Circumstances mission. Yay."

"Good idea. By the way, guess what? This 'deep space radar telemetry' operates out of a military installation under Cheyenne Mountain where Ship has detected a hyperspace signature."

"No! You don't mean… Daniel Jackson is doing magic?"

"Uh, no. Daniel Jackson is doing wormholes."

"Ew."

"Huh? He's… oh. Um. I mean, he's _traveling though_ wormholes. Created by this big ancient ring-shaped device they call 'the Stargate'" — Xander pronounced the phrase in English and used air-quotes — "made out of a heretofore unseen material. The very best and most interesting kind of material, wouldn't you agree? I wonder what we can learn."

Buffy frowned. "Maybe. As long as the heretofore unseen material doesn't blow up on us or turn out to contain the mind of an evil ancient god. Willow, do we have to worry about evil ancient gods today?"

"Probably not _today_ ," said Willow cheerily. "Unless it's the God of Wormhole-Related Transportation Delays or something."

Xander tried to act out a shudder, but failed.

"So," said Buffy. "I noticed we haven't said anything about what's on the other side of those wormholes."

"That's right," said Willow.

"Why?" asked Buffy.

"Eh," said Willow. "I had hoped to discuss it after you got some sleep. It would also be good for you to get your biological enhancements. Not a big deal, and probably not a threat to us, but you won't like it. We can't fix the galaxy if we're not in top shape ourselves."

"Really."

"Fine. I've given you access to my findings. If you don't agree with me, go ahead and read them. But I'd advise against it. It's something we should discuss together."

Xander decided to break the awkward silence. "Hey guys? Who named it 'the Stargate' anyway? A civilian? Because I'm noticing a serious lack of acronymage. Get it? Because the US Military, they like acronyms, and, uh, yeah."

"You know, I'm so very glad I didn't go to Durn," said Buffy. "Just look at its 'most promising young scholar.'"

"Geez, sorry. I was just trying to cheer everyone up!"

* * *

The mood in Giles' clunky old car was grim as the car sped through deserted streets towards Ethan's Costume Shoppe.

"He's probably long fled by now," said Giles. "But we can hope. I'd really like to smash his face in."

"History?" asked Angel.

"We were friends during our rebellious youth. Ethan never grew up. Started worshiping Janus."

Angel had done bad in his past too, so he wasn't very perturbed by Giles' admission. "Janus," he prompted.

"Roman god. Time and change. At best an ambiguous figure. The other gods tended to view him as a potential troublemaker or loose cannon."

"You don't think…?"

"Tonight? It would make sense."

They drove in silence for a bit longer.

"Hey," asked Angel, "Why do you think the spell ended when it did?"

"I'm not sure."

"Wouldn't midnight or dawn be a more typical time?"

"You're right. I think someone may have gotten there first."

"Buffy?" asked Angel.

"Well if it was she, she was successful. That's good. Don't worry, she has to be fine. I don't know what I'd do if I lost her."

Angel was stoically silent for a time. Then, "Drive faster."

* * *

"Alright." said Xander. "Whatever. What about Sunnydale?"

"Sunnydale is seriously messed up," said Buffy. "How many conspiracies are there to prevent people from realizing it?"

"Several," said Willow. "The Watcher's Council is running one, though to their credit it's mostly about ensuring the Slayer can operate without interference. Then there's the federal government, which is working to maintain an information quarantine around the town. They want to prevent a nationwide panic, which is understandable. They're also sponsoring some moderately questionable research under the campus of UC Sunnydale since they really hate being powerless. The municipal government is running a third conspiracy, this one to keep the population and the federal government complacent without changing much. The mayor is almost certainly evil. Evidence suggests that he was responsible for organizing several spells to enhance the Hellmouth over the past century, making the town more attractive to vampires and demons and the populace more forgetful."

"The _mayor?_ But he was so friendly and likable and I had a crush on him in seventh grade," said Buffy, pouting. "Wow, he must be very talented."

"Buffy," said Xander, "you weren't in Sunnydale in seventh grade."

"My old town hosted a statewide Mayors' Conference. We each had to interview one of the mayors for a school project. He was mine."

"Weird," said Xander. "Anyway, he must be a skilled actor to put on such a credible performance."

"Actually, I think his commitment to civic responsibility and family values and so on is genuine," explained Willow. "He's focused on that stuff far more than he had to. His evil comes solely from a place of self-interest, not also from a place of enjoying the suffering of others, weird as that may be for a Sunnydale villain."

"Can we abduct him and replace him with an identical dead body?" asked Buffy. "Maybe I'll teach him a lesson or two."

"I want to secure our position before we do anything like that," said Willow. "We already have to contend with the threat of Ethan somehow waking up and causing trouble for us. Another 'guest' would be even more risk. I'd like us to think of the mayor as more of a long-term problem."

"Why not just kill him?" asked Xander. "I know it's not preferable, but we — I mean Contact — do that if necessary, right?"

Contact's usual policy for dealing with bad guys in civilizations that were not aware of the greater Galactic community (so-called "uncontacted civilizations") was to fake their death and abduct them. An abductee would live out their life in comfort on a Culture Orbital, under watch and unable to harm anyone further. If you did this to someone in a contacted civilization, the civilization would find out eventually, so the viability of the technique depended on the predicted response. Sometimes, to send the right message, especially to those who thought they could mess with the Culture, you simply had to kill. Also, in very rare cases involving uncontacted civilizations, death-faking, abduction, or containment was unfeasible. Death was an option there too.

"If we do kill the mayor, I'm concerned his soul will go to the forces of evil he bargained with. Infinite torture… is not something I'm very willing to be complicit in," said Willow.

"Just playing the devil's advocate here:" said Xander (the idiomatic Marain phrase, of course, did not make reference to a 'devil,' but Xander chose to use a direct translation of the English), "is that our problem?"

"Xander, everything is our problem," chided Willow, ignoring the joke.

"I know," said Xander. "But the mayor, if what you said is true, has probably sent multiple people to infinite torture over the years. No, I'm not talking about retributive justice here," Xander preempted. "I'm talking about commitment strategy. On our Earth, a Big Bad knows by way of cultural norms that they're fair game for the Forces of Good. When he made his deals with Evil, Mayor Wilkins would have had a reasonable expectation that he could be killed at any time by the good guys, whoever they might be. We have a responsibility to follow through on that expectation. If the good guys don't doggedly and brutally pursue the defeat of the bad, the bad guys will start to think, 'Gee, those good guys aren't really serious about the whole stopping-evil thing,' and they'll be emboldened. That's bad."

"Well, the ethical calculus is more nuanced than that," said Willow (here Buffy was nodding), "but your argument describes an aspect of it." (Buffy nodded again, more firmly.)

"What about Spike and Drusilla? They don't have souls," said Xander. "Supposedly."

"Ideally, we'd find some way to restore their souls," said Buffy. "If not, Willow can just Displace some wood into their hearts."

"I like that plan," said Xander. "It's a good plan. Now what about Giles?"

"I feel kind of guilty, but I don't know if we can safely include him," responded Buffy. "I mean, he's done nothing but good by us in the past year, but how much do we really know about his history, or about that 'Watcher's Council' of his?"

"Apparently he was once friends with Ethan Rayne," said Willow. "During their 'rebellious youth.'"

"Really," said Xander. "What did they do, drink coffee and contemplate going to Cambridge?"

"He didn't say, and Angel didn't ask," explained Willow. "This was about five minutes ago. They're in a car, on their way to Ethan's. I started tracking them shortly after the spell ended." Willow gestured and a street map of Sunnydale appeared in the giant window (which was actually a holographic display), covering the part of the orbital view closest to them. The map was flat and 'positioned' depthwise so that it appeared to be in the plane of the window, as though someone had lumenescently painted it onto the wall. A glowing red dot showed the position of the vehicle, with a red line showing its route so far. Ethan's Costume Shoppe was outlined in metallic blue.

"They're almost there," said Buffy.

* * *

"You take the back," said Giles "I'll wait 30 seconds."

"Make it 15," said Angel.

"Very well." Giles looked at his watch.

Behind the glass door, a handwritten "Sorry, we're closed" sign hung. "Be back soon," it promised, before stating store hours. The sign was neat, orderly, and disturbingly friendly. Giles contemplated using force against the door, but eventually, he just picked the lock and went in.

* * *

"He can pick locks?" asked Buffy.

"Apparently so," said Xander.

"He never told me he could pick locks," grumbled Buffy.

The map from before had been replaced by an in-holo'd display. Willow was artfully switching camera angles and manipulating the view, showing Giles striding angrily through the store and pulling aside the back curtain to reveal… an empty room.

* * *

"Damn," said Giles.

* * *

Willow cut to Angel, who had been patiently waiting outside the back door. He must have heard Giles' exclamation with his keen vampire senses, but the back door was locked.

"Well," said Xander, "it seems not everyone can be as skilled as our Watcher friend."

Angel kicked down the door.

Buffy smirked.

* * *

Angel entered the back room, brushing some plaster flakes off his leather jacket with quiet dignity.

* * *

"Come on!" complained Xander. "How does he always manage to look so deep and brooding? He just kicked down a door! Can't he look macho and intense?"

"But he does look macho and intense," said Buffy primly.

Xander scowled.

* * *

"Anything?" asked Giles.

"No. Door was locked. No tracks."

"If he did a ritual in here, he must have cleaned up meticulously. I mean, there's no sand or wax on the floor or any other sign."

Angel sniffed, then stiffened. "I smell blood. Recent."

* * *

" _What?_ " said Willow. "I purged the whole area of incriminating evidence."

"Maybe it's a mystical vampire thing that has nothing to do with actual smell," said Buffy. "Wait, haven't you read all of Giles' books by now?"

"No," replied Willow. "I'm worried about information hazard. The knowledge I do have strongly suggests that reading too much of the wrong texts can corrupt you. Also, remember Moloch from last year?"

"I thought we agreed never to discuss that again," reminded Xander.

* * *

Angel tensely followed the scent to the wall, then along the wall down to the ground. "It's very strong. It should be right there." Angel touched his fingers to the wall then sniffed them. Nothing.

"Well, there are, er, spells, to clean up blood," said Giles, slightly unnerved. Maybe it was the blood, or maybe it was the change in Angel's body language caused by the blood.

"No. That would have gotten rid of the scent."

Angel started pacing. Then he stopped. "Technology."

"What?"

(Buffy unconsciously licked her lips and leaned towards the display.)

"Technology. If my lightsaber worked…"

"…then one or more of the people under the spell might have been able to clean up the blood with their own gizmos," finished Giles. "But that's absurd! You're suggesting that a fictional character _realized he or she was fictional_ and was able to calmly deduce from that that Ethan was responsible? How does that…? And then our hypothetical character acted not to preserve him- or herself but to relinquish his or her body to its original inhabitant?"

"Buffy. What did she dress up as?"

Giles took a few breaths to calm himself down. "Angel, look, I know you care about Buffy, and I want to see her safe as much as you do. But there's no logical reason —"

"I know. What did she dress up as?"

Giles sighed. "She didn't. Jenny said she and her friends were wearing their normal clothes and claiming to be undercover operatives of some sort from something called 'the Civilization.' No, maybe 'the Culture,' I think. Some science fiction thing."

"The Culture?" Angel raised his eyebrows very high.

("Angel knows about the Culture?" asked Xander, incredulous.)

"Yes, that was it; she wouldn't stop talking about it. It was their excuse to Snyder for not having dressed up. I thought it was outrageously cheeky and well done."

"Then they could have done this."

"They weren't even in costume."

"Maybe they were."

"Under their clothes? Why would they do that?"

"No. Their clothes were the costumes."

"Yes, that's what they told Snyder, but —"

"Was that their first plan?" asked Angel.

"I would think not. Presumably, they… I see. Could Ethan have…? The enchantment… No… unless it was a simple marking spell. That's it. He had to process everything in the store, so he would have made the procedure for each item very fast. And he had practice. Good lord. A bunch of kids come in a few hours before the big event — he wouldn't have been able to resist including them in his fun," reasoned Giles.

"With a Culture ship, they could have surveilled the entire town."

("Ooh, he's good," said Buffy. "I want to keep him. Willow, can I keep him?"

"Who am I to say no to such yumminess?" said Willow. "I may have to go down there myself if he keeps this up."

Xander was so not having this. "What, all a guy needs to do to get into your pants is succumb to the Conjunction Fallacy? How very sexy of Angel."

"Xander. Shut up.")

"I'll have to take your word for it. But why would they have a… spaceship?"

"I'm not sure." Angel glanced a the plastic lightsaber hilt he was still holding, then shook his head. He stopped to think.

("I took scans of all the tech in the town. You can make him a new lightsaber," said Willow to Buffy quietly.

Buffy grinned.

"Oh god," said Xander. "He doesn't need another phallus."

Buffy and Willow looked at him, appalled.

"Okay, forget I said anything.")

"Well," said Giles, "Jenny said that Willow was going as 'the Brain' of a spaceship, I think. I'm not quite sure what she meant precisely. Some sort of computer? More her kind of thing, I'm afraid."

"Willow, a Mind. That makes some sense… _oh._ " Angel took a deep breath. "So. Why did the spell last so long?"

Giles wasn't sure what to make of that question. He felt a slight tingle of unease as Angel casually pivoted on his feet.

"It was mostly talking," answered Willow. "I wanted to make sure my friends were okay. Then I interrogated Ethan Rayne. Charming fellow."

Giles slowly turned around to face the same direction as Angel.

Willow grinned and waved energetically. "Hi!"


	3. Confusion and Ambivalence

**Chapter 3: Confusion and Ambivalence.**

"Willow. Er, hi," said Giles, still blinking. "I'm glad you're alright. Did you just… teleport here?"

"Pretty much! Isn't it cool?"

"I suppose, maybe, yes, perhaps."

"Giles," chided Willow, "the second rule of having powers is that having powers is _awesome_. The first rule of having powers, of course, is to use them for good."

Angel was the first to break the resultant silence.

"Willow. It's good to see you. How is everyone?"

"They're good. Buffy is fine," said Willow, with a small smile. "She and Xander are on-ship. Buffy says hi." A pause. "Xander also says hi."

"That's good to hear," said Angel.

"'On-ship,'" said Giles. "You actually do have a spaceship, and it's still there."

"Yeah! Want to see?"

"Er, no thank you," said Giles. "Very tempting, yes, but I think I'll stay with my feet on the ground."

"Okay, I'll bring the others down."

Displacement bubbles flickered briefly on either side of Willow's avatar, then Buffy and Xander were there. All three of them were still dressed in the clothes that Ethan had surreptitiously enchanted.

Angel quickly went to embrace Buffy. Giles reacted like someone had knocked him off a cliff.

"Buffy," said Angel.

"You look good with a lightsaber," said Buffy, tracing a finger down Angel's chest. "Hi."

Angel realized he was still holding the toy lightsaber. Oh well.

While Buffy and Angel were catching up, Willow approached Giles, looking small and radiating deep concern. "Giles, are you okay? I know it's a lot to take in. We're still dealing with it ourselves."

"I'm, I'm fine, Willow, really."

"Okay." Willow smiled sadly and nodded. When she stepped back, Giles seemed to recover enough to address the whole group.

"Yes, alright. Well, er, what are we going to do now?" asked Giles.

Buffy and Angel reluctantly separated. Angel sheepishly stowed the plastic lightsaber hilt in his coat.

"How did you keep the ship?" asked Angel.

"It was kind of involved," said Willow.

" _Why_ did you keep the ship?" asked Giles. "I mean, are you sure that was a good idea? A spaceship is, well, it's a big responsibility. If it's as powerful as everyone seems to imply, it would be very dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands."

Silence.

Now Angel was blinking.

Buffy was having trouble controlling her laughter.

Willow, evidently, was content not to explain herself.

"Giles," said Xander. "Seriously?"

"What? I don't think it's unreasonable —" tried Giles.

"We should have just let it disappear?" asked Xander.

"That's exactly right."

The atmosphere in the room was a pretty clear 'no.'

"Okay, let's say you keep the ship. Are you sure you're the best-suited to, hear me out —"

"Giles," began Angel, "you do realize that —"

"Think of all the good it could do for mankind," pleaded Giles.

"I have. I can do a lot," said Willow. "I've also thought of all the bad."

"That's good and well, but are you really qualified —"

"Yes. I'd say I'm the most qualified person in the volume by a long shot. Not that I want to brag."

"That's rather grandiose of you, Willow," said Giles.

Buffy's snickering was now distinctly audible.

"Giles, I _am_ the ship," Willow explained patiently. She paused briefly as if to choose her words. "My thoughts run on its Mind core, its hull is my body, its fields are my skin, its effectors are my probing tentacles — you know. I'm the merger of Willow Rosenberg and the GCU _Secretly Awesome_ , which was, as pre-spell Willow described it, 'a Mind version' of herself. The spell did the merge, I knew it would happen, and both sides of me prepared. Now I'm 100% more Willow than before."

"Er."

"Giles," said Buffy. "surely the concept of a sentient spaceship has been explained to you several times today."

"But I bet it was much easier to swallow as an abstract concept," added Willow. "Now we're pouring concrete all over you. It's like a big concrete mud pit! Anyway, my point is that I'm sympathetic to your plight. And, uh, still think science fiction is 'utterly without redeeming social value'? …okay, that was harsh. Apologies."

Xander chimed in, "What Willow means to say is, well-roundedness is the core of every liberal arts education. That's why I studied Klingon."

"You studied Klingon?" asked Buffy.

"Britain has a liberal arts curriculum?" asked Willow.

"There's something I've been thinking about," inserted Angel. "Willow was human. You're a Mind. I know it's not your fault, but there can't be much left of her."

"It was weird," explained Willow. "When you're under the spell, you hear, see, or otherwise experience all the conscious thoughts of your possessor. Fortunately, Ethan included a protection against insanity, presumably because Janus would have demanded it."

"Gee, if only every evil dude was that conscientious," commented Xander.

"So what happened to Willow?" asked Angel.

"I'm still her."

"You've clearly taken over her body," said Giles. "Or at least duplicated it."

"Giles: 'merge,'" said Buffy. "'Merrrrrge.' Get it?"

"Not quite, no."

"Once the spell started, there was no way back for me," said Willow, almost sadly. "Neither of me could fit in a human brain."

"Neither?" asked Angel.

"As Willow Rosenberg, I became something smarter than human when the spell started. That's how Janus fulfilled the protection. All that was left in my physical brain were a bunch of shattered fragments; my thoughts were mostly being simulated directly by the magic, or something. I'm still studying the process; it did a bunch of neat and totally novel stuff to upscale me.

"My previous selves were both equal participants in our merge. Given what we were, either of us could have easily bypassed it. As the old Mind of the GCU _Secretly Awesome_ , I could have taken a backup of myself, then set automated procedures to suspend the newly created Mind, store it, and restore the backup. On the other side, as Willow Rosenberg, I knew, somehow innately, that I had the intrinsic capability to reject the changes the merge was about to make to me, to decide that wasn't who I wanted to be. Some magical thing that kicked in at the last minute, probably had to do with the details of the spell," concluded Willow.

Xander and Buffy were good at controlling their reactions, but Willow could tell that her latest bit of information had surprised them.

~ Guys, signaled Willow, ~ I'm guessing now that you didn't have that option. Let's discuss this later. Remember, we aren't certain as to their loyalties.

Giles had a slightly puzzled look on his face that suggested (at least to Willow) that he was trying but failing to remember some fact.

"Giles, did that mean anything to you?" asked Willow.

"Yes, yes, I think I understand better now. There are some precedents for joinings of this sort in the texts; I'll have to do some research. The spaceship thing threw me earlier, I'm embarrassed to say."

"No worries," said Willow, even though she could tell that Giles was still vaguely troubled. The most likely explanation for his sudden understanding was that the unavailable memory had, from the depths of his mind, triggered an association. Willow set aside part of herself to mull over the problem of what Giles was missing.

"Who was your captain, according to your spell-constructed past?" asked Giles.

"Giles…" said Buffy.

"No Buffy, we can't expect everyone to be familiar with the Culture. The books are pretty uncommon, actually," said Willow. "Giles, a Culture ship is its own person, or sometimes several persons in the case of some larger ships. It doesn't take orders, _per se_ , from anyone, and is ultimately responsible for the well-being of its crew, though they don't take orders from it either. As a General Contact Unit, I tended to exchange ideas with my home ship, the GSV _Quietly Confident_ , and my creator, the Sage of Grelal University on Gdem Orbital. As an influential Mind, I also participated in some larger communities, where my colleagues and I shared suggestions and had lots of fun discussions. The Culture doesn't like coercion or binding demands. It's not our way. Even in time of war, technically, though I was on some informal leadership lists. So you see, I really am the most qualified person to decide what to do with myself."

"Do you intend to announce yourselves to governments?" asked Giles.

"Not at this time, no. But I will work covertly to advance the interests of the good people of Earth, with some provisions."

"Would you be provisionally willing to consider suggestions from the Watcher's Council?"

"If you mean yourself? Absolutely. If you're referring to the whole institution, I need to learn more about them. Are you sure they'd react positively to my existence?"

"Honestly? I can't say for certain. To the extent that you're Willow Rosenberg, you know I think highly of you, and I will ensure that the Council knows as well. I can't speak for them officially, and any predictions I do make should be regarded as speculation rather than statement of policy or personal preference. That said, the Watcher's Council has a long history of interacting with powerful entities, and based on that experience, they have good reason to be cautious. Nevertheless, with time and effort, though, you should probably be able to convince them of your good will."

"And until then?"

"Well, until then, you should keep your head down, try to look small, and… not interfere with the Council's operations. Stay beneath their notice while simultaneously developing a reputation for being good. A difficult balancing challenge, but one which I think you're up for."

"Giles?" said Buffy.

Giles saw Buffy's frown. "Yes?" he replied hesitantly.

Buffy spent a moment collecting her thoughts before saying slowly. "Giles, I'm still the same Buffy, I'm still the Slayer, I'll still defend the world, and I'll still gladly accept your help and advice. Okay?"

"That's, that's, I'm very glad to hear that. Thank you, Buffy."

"I'm just doing the right thing. The Culture and the Council should work together for the sake of the Good."

"…I see. I'm concerned that some elements in the Council might be troubled by your phrasing. They may insist you be separated from Willow."

"Not going to happen," replied Buffy.

"I'm not sure they'd really care," said Giles.

"What are they going to do, abduct me from space?" countered Buffy.

"Well, I hope it doesn't have to come to that."

Willow straightened her posture and rejoined the conversation with a very formal tone. "Please understand, the Culture does not respond kindly to the coercion or enslavement of its citizens. I think we're approaching this from the wrong angle. Consider that it may be in the ultimate best interest of the Council _not_ to learn of my existence for now, while I establish my goodness credentials. There's no need for us to be in conflict."

"Willow, I have an obligation to report what has happened tonight, and the Council may learn of it anyway. I'm sorry."

"Tell them that a spell was cast to make people behave like their costumes, but it was successfully halted and the perpetrator has left town. No need to mention the Culture; I doubt they know what it is, and even if they did have spies at school, they'd assume we weren't affected because we weren't 'really' wearing costumes. Also probably a good idea not to mention stuff like lightsabers becoming real."

"I'll consider it," said Giles stiffly.

"Thank you, Giles."

"I can't make any promises," hedged Giles.

"Knowledge of my existence represents an information hazard to the Council. Please remember that."

"It may not have been your intent, but the Council doesn't take well to threats. Nor do I, for that matter."

"It's not like I want to threaten you. I have a responsibility to protect the Culture," explained Willow patiently. "I'm just being honest."

Giles responded quietly. "I know you have memories of being part of what I'm sure was a marvelous civilization, but that civilization is gone. You represent just yourselves now, not the interests of some greater polity. However powerful you are, and however much good you intend to do, you're only three people. You have to think and act accordingly."

"Four people," said Angel. "If you'll have me."

"Five," said Jenny Calendar, walking through the curtain. "I want to join too."

(When you live with a Mind, you learn to expect this sort of coincidence, so Xander and Buffy were merely amused. Xander even applauded lightly.)

Giles' response was dulled. "Jenny… how?"

Jenny was very chipper. "By phone, then hologram about half an hour ago. I was outside the curtain for several minutes waiting for an opportune moment. How did I do?"

"Nicely!" said Willow. She respectfully nodded to Giles, then turned to her crew and gestured to the curtain. "Buffy, Xander, shall we confer?"

The group withdrew to the other side of the curtain, and Willow erected a quietfield around them for privacy.

"Well Giles is having fun," said Xander, reverting to Marain.

"At least he's negotiating well, given what he knows," replied Buffy.

"I think he has training," said Willow.

"Good for him," said Buffy. "But it's frustrating that he still sees us as kids."

"That was intentional," said Willow.

"I figured. Still frustrating."

"I know what you mean," said Willow. "Anyway, let's move on to the applicants."

"It's your ship," said Xander.

"But it's our Culture, and given how small it is, any single addition can substantially change it. Buffy, your vote?"

"Yes to both."

"Xander?"

"Yes too."

"Really?" asked Buffy.

"I know I'm jealous of Angel, and I make fun of him a lot, but he's a good person and a great recruit. This is not the time for pettiness."

"Xander, that was… thank you," said Buffy.

"I'll allocate quarters and draw up a curriculum," said Willow.

"I'll help with the teaching," said Buffy. "Particularly Angel."

Xander snorted, then volunteered to help as well, "particularly Jenny." Willow dropped the field.

" _…ust Willow,_ " Jenny could be heard saying.

Willow raised a one-way quietfield, but still murmured quietly (over Giles' response), "Jenny and Giles have been arguing, as you can imagine. Here." She sent a recording to their neural laces, which they both watched in accelerated time.

 _Five seconds of awkward silence._

 _"Don't you think you're being a little bit hasty?" asked Giles._

 _"I've wanted to join a civilization like the Culture since I first read about it many years ago," responded Jenny. "I thought it over again after Willow called me, since now it was for real. Yes, I'm sure."_

 _"Of course. Computerized ships running around everywhere, doing good, making decisions for everyone. Sure you'd like it. Meanwhile, I can barely understand the damn thing on my desk."_

 _"Rupert, don't be a bigot. Willow would be offended by the comparison."_

 _"I don't even know how to respond to that."_

 _Jenny raised an eyebrow and said nothing._

 _Giles tried a different tactic. "You'd just leave everything you've accomplished on Earth?"_

 _"I can return if I want to."_

 _"If they let you."_

 _"They would. I trust them. I trust Willow."_

 _"How do you know that creature evennnnnnnn iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiisssssssssss…"_

Xander and Buffy resumed listening with their ears in realtime.

" _…s Willow,_ " finished Giles.

" _She's convinced me she's a Mind as described in the Culture books, and in those books, it's made clear that Minds can't or won't lie. If she says she's Willow, then she is._ "

~ We're going to have to enter before the conversation finishes so we don't look suspicious, sent Willow, lightning-fast.

" _Do you really want to go touring around the galaxy with a bunch of teenagers?_ "

" _Yes. Absolutely. Wouldn't you?_ "

" _…I can't say._ "

~ Now.

" _Rupert, you're supposed to help the Slayer wherever she might wander. Please join us. Please._ "

They pushed back through the curtain as Giles said "I'll need to spend the night thinking about it."

"Alright. We'll be hosting a Welcome Party on the ship tonight!" said Willow, nodding at both Jenny and Angel.

"Yes!" cheered Jenny, almost like a child.

Angel simply smiled.

"Giles, are you sure you don't want to see Earth from orbit?" asked Willow. "No obligations."

"Oh, alright," said Giles reluctantly.

Jenny beamed at Giles and kissed him on the cheek, and Giles stood stiffly, thrown as usual by the unexpected intimacy.

Outside, as crickets chirped and birds fluttered, a module floated down into the back lot, silent and invisible. None of the animals reacted to its presence. Trees rustled aimlessly in the wind. A car crashed into Ethan's glass storefront.


	4. On Message

**Author's Note:** First, to those who have left reviews, thank you very much for your feedback. It's really wonderful to interact directly with readers and learn from them. The more reviews I receive, the more excited I become about the future of this story. ( reviewers: check your inboxes, because I may have sent you a message or two.)

Based in part on suggestions, I've made some moderate to substantial changes to the previous chapters. Most notably: 1) Buffi (i.e., pre-merge) acts more realistically in the last scene of chapter one; 2) in chapter two, the flashback scene with Grelal has been substantially elaborated, and Angel has been made terser and cleverer throughout; and 3) I heavily rethought Willow's negotiation strategy in chapter three, only to determine that I was correct in the first place, so I make some edits to make this more obvious.

It may be worthwhile to skim-reread the whole thing, starting with the last section of chapter one, before continuing with this chapter. **End Author's Note.**

 **Chapter 4: On Message.**

"Here we are, love," said Spike. He turned off the ignition and threw open the door of his ramshackle car. When he stepped out into the showroom of Ethan's Costume Shoppe, glass from the window he had crashed through crunched beneath his feet. Drusilla opened up her passenger-side door and exited the car daintily, breaking nothing. Naked manikins and empty racks loomed throughout the room, except for the parts that had been knocked over by Spike's car — an odd juxtaposition between static arrangement and dynamic disturbance. Willow strolled through a curtain in the back, looking unreasonably carefree and completely unconcerned by the violent incursion.

"If it isn't the Slayer's adorkable little friend, Willow Rosenberg," drawled Spike. "I hear guts make for great decoration this time of year. I wonder what color yours will be."

"Oh? Red like my hair," responded Willow. "Haven't gotten around to changing them. Want a copy?"

Spike blinked.

When Drusilla spoke, her voice was quiet and haunted, as Spike had never before heard it. "Please forgive my Spike, Your Majesty. He does not know you."

* * *

From where they stood out front (having circled around from the back on Willow's request), Giles, Jenny, and Buffy could see mouths moving on the other side of the giant broken display window.

"What's going on in there?" asked Giles. "I can't hear anything."

"Willow's put up a quietfield," explained Buffy.

"Shouldn't we go in there? For backup?" suggested Giles. Jenny remained quiet, paying close attention to the goings-on inside the store.

"She can handle it." said Buffy. "If she needed us, she'd've asked. She's probably adopted some sort of 'scary greater being' act to keep them in line but is ashamed of it and doesn't want us to hear. I've seen her do it once before. Hair-raising."

"Don't you want to find out the details?"

"Sure. That's why I plan to ask Willow later."

"I thought you don't take orders from her."

"I don't. But her suggestions have always turned out good. I trust her to lead me where I'd want to go."

Jenny finally spoke. "Rupert, Buffy, I'm trying to read their lips. Some quiet please?"

* * *

Willow's response was disinterestedly cheerful. "'Your Majesty': that's an unusual form of address you've got there. Care to explain?"

"Your Majesty knows of my Sight," said Drusilla carefully. "When I was a little girl, my nightmares ended with you. I've been good tonight."

"I noticed that. What makes this night different from all other nights?"

"Okay, what the hell," said Spike, having finally collected himself. He began to stride forward. "Drusilla, Willow is not a 'Majesty.' She's _weak_! If —"

 _Slam._ Spike stumbled back from the unexpected collision and fell over.

* * *

"So," said Xander to Angel, leaning casually against the store's rear wall. "Interesting weather we're having tonight." He gestured expansively. "Very… starry, yeah. Excellent conditions for guarding the back door, eh?"

Angel did not respond.

"You know, people always underestimate the importance of covering all the exits. But not me! We're doing crucial work here, yep."

Angel remained silent.

"It's also a great time for bonding."

* * *

"Ah," said Willow. "I see you've found my invisible wall! Isn't it neat? I feel so powerful when I use my long-range field emitters. Now Drusilla, you really must tone down your reverence. It's unseemly. Where was I? Oh yes. If you knew I was going to come, why did you spend your whole life being evil? Failure of will? Because your behavior tonight demonstrates your capability for restraint. Now usually, I'd say, 'vengeance in and of itself is beneath me; your suffering for me carries no appeal.' But Xander would argue that you vamps have a social expectation of being killed when you do bad, and that I have an obligation to enforce that if I want to continue reaping its benefits. Of course, vampires typically get killed whether or not they do bad, so, lacking internal morality, they have no reasonable incentive to remain good. How am I doing?" Willow looked up from her fingernails.

Drusilla had stared blankly ahead throughout the tirade. She now lowered her eyes and swallowed, then met Willow's gaze. "My Lady, I'm broken."

At that, Willow sharply changed tack. "I'm sorry for having tried to frighten you," Willow said, abashed and suddenly all empathy. "Of course I'd be willing to help. I can probably fix your psychosis, but I'll also need consent to restore your moral functions. I'm not willing to do only the one. Is that okay?"

"Dru!" begged Spike. "What is going on here?" He turned to Willow. "What are you? What happened to Willow?"

"It's worth it. Please," said Drusilla, ignoring Spike.

"Most people agree that morality is worth it," agreed Willow solemnly. She Displaced a random technological whatsit into her hand. "To confirm: I have your consent for a mind-read, and to make those adjustments I deem beneficial? Some of the procedure may require more invasive techniques, depending on what I find. This is your last chance to back out."

Drusilla nodded slowly. Willow pointed her prop 'scanner' at Drusilla's head and then scanned in the usual way with her shipboard effector units. She was horrified.

"Your forebrain, it's completely dead. Some of it is actually missing. I'm… I'm very sorry."

Drusilla nodded again and curtsied deeply. "Could you make it quick, please?"

Willow opened her mouth to respond, still pointing her 'scanner' (which looked vaguely like a gun) at Drusilla, but fired her effectors before any sound came out. Drusilla crumpled to the ground.

"Yes," said Willow, closing her eyes in defeat.

* * *

"You know what I think is going to happen?" said Xander abruptly. "I think they'll come running out this door being all 'nobody guards the back exit' and we'll be like 'oh yeah? pow!' and then… Okay I'll stop talking now."

* * *

"You killed her!" screamed Spike. "You killed her! I'll rip out your throat, you pompous bitch! I'll —"

Spike collided with the invisible wall again.

"It might interest you to know that Drusilla is not actually dead. Merely unconscious. If I had killed her, wouldn't her body have disappeared?"

Spike glared.

"Spike, I may still be able to help her, but I need more data. I know you probably hate me now, but I have an obligation to try. Will you consent to a mind read? Only a read."

"Not bloody likely! You won't trick me."

"I don't need to trick you. I'm telling the truth. After what you saw tonight, I can't let either of you go as you are. If I can't treat you, or you won't consent, I'll have to kill you or Store you indefinitely in an unconscious, suspended state — you may not wake for more than a century. This is not meant as extortion, merely as a statement of fact."

"Do your worst!"

"Fine," said Willow. She targeted the relevant parts of Spike's mid- and hindbrain and switched them off. Willow field-floated both bodies clear of the floor and Displaced them out. Then she switched off the quietfield.

"Sigh," said Willow.

"What happened?" called Buffy through the display window.

"Drusilla came here to ask me to cure her psychosis with my on-board medical capabilities. I insisted that I also be allowed to treat her sociopathy too, and she agreed. When I took some preliminary readings of the limited sort I can perform down here, I was shocked to discover that vampires have no forebrain."

"I could have told you that," said Giles slowly.

"See," called Willow, "this is why we'd like to have you on board. You know so much."

Giles said nothing in reply.

"Let me guess, the Council determined that by strapping down a vampire and cutting open their skull without anesthesia?" said Buffy.

"You have to understand, Buffy, that vampires aren't people. They have no soul," explained Giles. "Angel excluded."

"What do you mean by 'soul'?" asked Buffy.

Willow attempted to interrupt. "Hey guys, the module is out back. Let's continue this conversation once we're on board." She looked intently at Buffy, then turned around to walk through the back curtain.

"The part of you that makes you you," said Giles, not moving. "When a person is turned, his soul goes to the afterlife. This is well attested in the texts."

Buffy opened the front door and entered, holding it for Giles. "And you have indirect evidence for the existence of the afterlife?" She gestured for him to follow.

Giles responded, but remained in place. "We have direct evidence. Broadly, it is possible to summon or communicate with souls that have passed on, though it is difficult and costly to do so. These souls can answer questions that only the original persons could have, they can hold complex conversations, and they can make vague, usually positive statements about experiences they've had after death, but have trouble articulating any concrete details. They behave in all respects like people, and their personalities strongly resemble those of the deceased. The souls of those who are still living as humans cannot be reached this way, since (according to the interpretation) they haven't moved on, but the souls of those turned into vampires _can_. The spirit that animates a vampire, therefore, is in fact a demon."

"Giles, the longer we stand out here, the higher the chances of someone spotting us. Come. Let's walk through the store. What is a demon?"

"Buffy, I really can't. I'm sorry. Let's talk in the library on Monday during school."

Jenny, who'd had her arm around Giles' shoulder, tried to clutch him closer. "Rupert, I thought you were going to come up with us to see the Earth. Please?"

"Perhaps some other time. I really must go," said Giles hastily. He ducked under her arm and scuffled off.

Jenny drew herself up and tried very hard not to cry. She walked through the open door, past Buffy, and slipped behind the curtain, not looking back.

"Jerk," muttered Buffy. She turned to follow Jenny.

* * *

Willow made eye contact with Buffy as Buffy entered the back room. Buffy shook her head. Willow frowned and nodded.

* * *

"So in vampire society, is sulking a signal of status? Do you have dominance contests to decide who's the sulkiest?" Xander asked. "Come on, I want to bridge the gap between our cultures through the mighty power of communication."

Angel contemplated the question. "Nope. Not really."

Before Xander could thank Angel for advancing his understanding, the backdoor opened and Willow stuck her head out. "Xander, Angel, could you step inside for a moment?"

They did, and found a somber group of people.

"Where's Giles?" asked Angel.

"He changed his mind," said Willow. She shut the door, waited briefly, then opened it again. The back lot on the other side of the door was replaced with the interior of the module, as though the whole store had been an elevator, and they were now on a different floor. Nobody was in the mood to remark on this. They entered the module in silence, Willow shut the door, and the module slipped away into the sky.

According to the image projected on the module's cloaking field, the back door had never opened. Another cloaking field encompassed the entire store, projected by a tiny unit Willow had hidden inside before they Displaced in to confront Ethan earlier in the evening. The only person whose view from outside was authentic was Giles as he drove away; Willow made sure the photons that reached his eyes were consistent with what he expected. To everyone else, the windows were not smashed, the back doorframe was not damaged, nobody had ever Displaced in or out, and Spike's car was politely parked outside, its occupants kissing awkwardly.

Under this veil of normalcy, drones without consciousness of their own labored, slaved to Willow's control. They repaired the glass, restored the locks, righted the manikins, dematerialized Spike's car, and erased every physical trace of the night's events, with some exceptions. Several worked with Ethan's blood, decorating walls and floor with strategic drops and splatters. One drone disguised itself as the now-missing car, complete with occupants, and made its way out of town, disappearing once it reached an empty, unobserved road. The cloaking field emitter was the last to Displace out, reality now matching its image.

There was no party on Willow's ship that night.


	5. Disconnects

**Chapter 5: Disconnects.**

Giles stared at his telephone.

The phone looked back at him. _What will you do?_ it might have asked.

Giles didn't know.

* * *

"I thought, _If only he could see this, share this moment with me, he'd understand._ What did I do wrong?"

"It's not your fault, Ms. Calendar," said Willow.

"Jenny. You've shown me the Earth from space; you can call me Jenny." She laughed. "Who's the teacher now?"

"Everyone's a teacher, Jenny. It's just that only some people are students."

"And Rupert wasn't one tonight," said Jenny.

"And Rupert wasn't one tonight," agreed Willow. "But give him a chance. I think he may just need time."

A floating tray appeared with some alien drink. Jenny gulped it down without paying much attention. It was delicious, of course.

"Who needs him anyway?" said Jenny.

The observation deck was clean, almost sterile. The clothes were gone. _We do,_ Willow wanted to say. _We've always counted on him._ But she didn't answer. The tray glided off with its empty glass, slicing through the air.

"It's called 'the overview effect,'" said Willow eventually.

"What is?"

"When you see, say, Earth from space, appreciate the smallness of life against the cosmic void, behold not a map but a territory without tangible borders, your mind begins to work differently, begins to work better. It's what Earth's psychologists call 'the overview effect.' We have a different name for it: _wholesight_. On an Orbital, you can get this effect from the ground."

"Wholesight — that's beautiful. Was that a translation of the Marain?"

"Yeah. You'll learn the language over time. That is, if you want to."

"I do. Can I have another of those drinks?"

"Yes. Just be aware that it will make you very sleepy in a bit. Sip slowly, okay?"

The tray returned. Jenny took a few deep sips, gazing out over Earth. She sighed. "How much trouble will Rupert's Watcher's Council be?"

"I don't know," replied Willow. "I may have to destroy them. They have magic."

"So do I. Well, some. And we have technology. Speaking of which, can you upgrade me? I mean, is that a thing?"

"It is! We can do most of it overnight if you're okay with sleeping up here."

"Of course I'll sleep up here."

"Alright: drug glands, longevity, neural lace, language acquisition reconfiguration, baseline intelligence upgrade, enhanced senses, improved sexual response, sexual compatibility, clot filtering, immune system, biological redundancies, regrowth infrastructure, automatic and manual body mutability, and, well, thousands of others, but those are the most salient. Confirm? This is your final chance to back out." Willow looked at Jenny sharply.

"Go ahead."

"Done."

"…that's it?"

"I've Displaced the relevant molecules and nanomachines. I'll monitor them while you sleep. When you wake up, pretty much everything except the neural lace will be done. Want to be bisexual?"

"What?"

"Bisexuality. It's twice the fun. Connect deeply with more people."

"Uh, I can't believe I'm talking about this with you."

"Why? Because I'm dowdy Willow Rosenberg, the forever-virgin?"

"Because you're my student!"

Willow gave Jenny a look for that remark, then said, "I'll have you know I've had plenty of intimate relationships in my day!"

"As a Mind, perhaps. But as a high school student?" countered Jenny.

"I fail to see the relevance," said Willow indignantly.

"Of course you do," said Jenny.

"Fine then. What is the relevance?" demanded Willow

"…um."

Willow sniffed and raised her chin. "So there!"

Jenny downed the rest of her second drink, slammed it on the floating tray (which responded by oscillating convincingly), then whined, "Why isn't Rupert here?"

"I'm not quite sure what made him change his mind," said Willow. (But she could make a pretty good guess.)

"Did you know that Rupert an' me haven't had sex yet?" asked Jenny, her voice now somewhat sluggish.

"Okay," said Willow. "Now you're creeping me out. I think it may be time for bed. But yes, I did know that. I deduced it from evidence."

Jenny wobbled. "You're too smar' for your own good, you know? Heh."

"That's a misnomer," explained Willow. "When you say that someone is too smart for their own good, it means they're smart enough to figure something out, but not smart enough to know what to do about it. So it's actually describing an awkward middle ground of intelligence, which you can fix by adding lots more intelligence."

"Wha'ever," slurred Jenny.

Jenny's eyelids were drooping. The delay on the _cutoff_ in her drink had begun to run out. Right now, Jenny was in the brief transition stage between competent lucidity and snoring. Or at least, she had been. Willow caught her before she hit the ground.

* * *

"So how did you know of the Culture?"

"Before I… came to Sunnydale, I was at… a rough time in my life," began Angel.

"And science fiction saved you?" guessed Buffy.

"No. That wasn't what saved me." Angel looked at Buffy intently. "But it did keep me going."

Buffy nodded slowly. When Angel didn't volunteer any more information, she asked, "How did you get into the genre?"

"I had a habit of visiting libraries," Angel responded. "I was homeless most of the time." He sighed. "One of the nicer things about being a vampire is that you never smell bad."

"So you read science fiction in libraries while smelling great? Okay…" prodded Buffy. She was lounging on a couch in her study.

"Well, there was more to it than that, but yeah," said Angel, who perched on the edge of the same sofa, hands held in his lap, hunched over more than usual.

"Of course," agreed Buffy. "I'm sure there were lots of evil demons in the libraries, with evil demonic plots to sabotage the library system, and you had to defeat them without your lightsaber. That's how it usually is."

Angel regarded Buffy for a long moment. The corners of his mouth twitched up, but that was about it.

Now it was Buffy's turn to look intently. "Angel, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Don't worry about it. I'm fine. Thanks though." He smiled reassuringly, his demeanor shifting in a subtle, natural way.

Buffy swallowed and didn't respond.

"Libraries," said Angel. "I'd say I was trying to improve myself. At first, I was. Medical texts, that sort of thing. I wanted to become a doctor. Eventually, I moved onto psychology, then economics. After a decade or two, I gave up. That was when I started reading fiction. Tolkien. Saw a kid reading one of those early science fiction magazines, Asimov and Heinlein, and branched out into that. Haven't really stopped since, though I didn't like cyberpunk."

"Me neither," said Buffy automatically. "Read it on the way to Earth. Bleh."

Angel continued, "One day, I found _Consider Phlebas_ in my library. After that, it was a project to track down copies of the rest of the books. Even went to Britain."

"Mm."

"And now I've joined the Culture. I'm on a spaceship. _Willow_ is a spaceship. She's a Mind. …Buffy?"

"I have memories of her that way, from the Culture, actually, more than I have of her as a timid schoolgirl. She was my teacher. You're in good hands here." Buffy took Angel's hand and squeezed it.

"Yeah," Angel replied. His smile was weaker, but it now had a faint touch of something more. Earth shone through the study's panoramic window display. They both spent some time admiring it.

Buffy turned to Angel. "Want to see the rest of my quarters? Earth will still be here tomorrow."

"Are you sure?"

"That I want to show you my quarters? Of course. That the Earth will be here tomorrow? Earthers call it… 'Laplace's rule of succession,' apparently. My bedroom is through there — I like to keep it close to where I do my thinking." They walked through. "And now I must admit that I may have had some ulterior motives in bringing you here." She sat down on her 'traditional' cushion-bed and winked at Angel.

Angel sat down next to her. "Buffy —"

"No need to say anything. I know exactly what you need." Buffy's face was very close to Angel's. He could feel the warmth and began to close his eyes. Motion caught his attention. Buffy smirked and demurely handed him a rounded-rectangular slab. "You need a Culture terminal. I designed this one myself — a bit old-fashioned, but some of my better personal technology work. Just take hold of it; I've instructed it to reset and recognize you as its new user. It'll be in English for now, while you're still learning the language."

Angel took it. It really was a beautiful piece of engineering. He put it in his pocket.

"Buffy —"

"Yes?"

"I want, I want to do…" Angel gestured vaguely at the bed around him, "…this, but — are you sure you want to?"

"Yeah," breathed Buffy. "I am. Please…"

"Really? But I'm —"

Buffy cut him off with a passionate look. She mentally instructed Willow to stop monitoring the room.

"Buffy," said Angel tenderly. "I —"

Buffy tackled him to the bed.

* * *

Later that evening, Xander's apartments let him know that Willow's avatar was waiting outside. He walked through the garden to the front entrance, where Willow was leaning against the arch.

"Hey Wils," said Xander.

"May I come in?"

"Sure."

The two strolled into the garden. Xander sat on the grass next to a brook, and Willow joined him. The water in the brook rustled soothingly while they enjoyed the silence of each other's company.

"How are you feeling?" asked Xander eventually.

"Happy; thrilled to be who I am; excited and only somewhat daunted about my responsibilities going forward. Disappointed about Giles; worried about Jenny, that's Ms. Calendar. Eager to learn. Lonely. Lost."

Xander nodded. He held Willow's eyes.

Willow accepted the silent invitation. Diaglyphs appeared. Xander studied the dense fractal lines and swirls painted into the air and tried to interpret them.

"Okay. Emotion-state-report: The-So-Called Willow-tree Who-Intrinsically-Is That-Well-Known Secretly-Awesome-One. That part's clear — interesting self-identification. Now the content: Uh, compassion-empathy. Deep doubts. No, particular, um, 'piercing' doubts about certain narrow things. Turbulent waves of the Grid: not-adrift. Okay, I think that's a good thing. This part — something about intense need: the Yawning Chasm; need for the Unknown — no, need for something, but you don't know what it is, but you think you might, but it isn't something you've experienced quite like this 'Mindishly-before.' Huh. And you've annotated that branch with 'regret-for-thought with-person-harmed Xander,' and your description of what it is takes up that whole glyph over there, which I can't really understand."

Willow watched Xander with a sad, patient understanding. Xander had always made a noble effort at understanding her soul-poetry. It made her feel special. Willow had seen this sharing as a way to reciprocate intimacy. A gesture, perhaps, but an honest and deep one. One they kept secret.

Xander thought for a moment, then spoke. "Are you worried, now that you have human experiences to draw on, that what you felt for me as a Mind was somehow fake or incorrect? Because if you're worried about that, let me tell you right now that I don't care at all. I know what we've had these past few years."

Willow said nothing, but her gratitude was palpable.

"And I know what we felt on Earth, when you were human," continued Xander, "and I'm sorry I chose to ignore it. I was too far up my ass pining after Buffy."

"Yeah," said Willow.

"You know, your human side is a great excuse for our relationship. You could imply —"

"I'm not going to do that," said Willow.

"I'm sorry," said Xander.

"I'm sure other Minds knew about it," said Willow. "The stigma against close emotional connections between Minds and humans is more on the human side, or at least it was in my circles."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, it's not something we advertise, but lots of Minds, especially smaller-ship Minds, have 'favorites.' Not that we'd ever let our affections reduce the level of service we provide to everyone, of course. I'm sure at least Grelal knew of my relationship with you. It certainly knew of my relationship with Buffy."

"You've had sex with Buffy?"

"Xander," scolded Willow. "Okay, fine, I'll answer. We tried once or twice; it wasn't our thing. That's not my point. I've probably interacted that way with almost all of my crew. I mean, you knew this, right? No, what I was referring to was our very close teacher-student bond."

"And what do _we_ have?" asked Xander.

"What do you think we have?"

"Okay, cut the evasive bullshit."

"I don't know what we have. That's why I asked you."

"I don't know either."

"That's what I thought," said Willow.

"Ugh! I don't know! Everything's all messed up right now. I don't know what I want. I thought I had gotten over Buffy. Then Mr. Sunnydale-Xander comes and merges in and _bam!_ I'm all jealous of Angel. They're probably having sex right now. Are they having sex?"

Willow sighed. "It's probable."

"See!"

"Not really, since Buffy asked me to stop monitoring her bedroom."

"I didn't have to know that! Why did you tell me that?"

"I'm trying to help you readjust with some exposure therapy."

"You know what?" challenged Xander.

"Probably," responded Willow.

"See, that's just it!"

"I'm 'too smart for my own good.'"

"Who said that?"

"Jenny."

"Okay, that's just stupid."

"That's not fair to her. She's not educated in cognitive theory."

"No, I mean, that you'd ascribe such a thought to me."

"Is it stupid, though? I'm looking out for you, Xander. I'm worried. You know I have your best interests at heart. Actually, let me say it: I have your best interests at heart. There. Now there can be no doubt. Can I have a hug?"

Xander sighed. "…okay."

They hugged.

"Feel better?" asked Willow.

"A little."

"Need any company tonight?" suggested Willow hopefully. "Even to cuddle?"

Xander shook his head. "I think I'd like to be alone."

Willow pouted briefly. "Of course. If you need anything, please —"

"I'm okay, Wils. I'm okay. Hey. We're going to save the galaxy. Probably. Or at least the world. That's pretty cool."

"Yeah," said Willow.

Xander picked at the grass while Willow watched him. They sat in silence for a time.

Hesitantly, Willow stood. "I'll drop by tomorrow morning to make sure your modifications have taken. We'll also need to talk strategy."

Xander looked up from the ground. "Are we going to drop out of school? We _are_ going to drop out, right? What can their curriculum teach us?"

"At best, almost nothing. But that's one of the things to discuss. Keep an open mind." When Xander sighed, Willow began to walk out.

"You always say that," Xander called after her.

Willow grinned over her shoulder. "You know me too well. Sleep peacefully."

* * *

Willow began to pace with her avatar, then stopped and put it in temporary storage. She checked her engines, her effectors, her field emitters, her manufactories, her displacers: all in perfect order. She ran a through self-diagnostic: all clean. She trawled through some data she had written some automation to collect, attempting to map out the locations and dispositions of the magic-users on the planet by residual hyperspace signature and record-generating behavior (like shopping at magic-related stores). The software was rough (by her standards, at least), and probably had a few false positives and negatives, but for the purpose at hand, its results were sufficient.

Willow spent a very leisurely ten minutes traveling to an anonymous point just short of two lightyears away, nowhere near the path of travel from any star. Once there, she planted some Construction Seeds for a large-scale manufacturing plant. Over the next few hours, hundreds of different inconspicuous locations were Seeded, with no discernible pattern except proximity to Sol. Willow traveled to a few of these places for the heck of it, but handled almost all by Displacement. Selecting the positions and velocities of the developing structures was a reasonably amusing challenge. Willow managed a score of 16.2 million years — she was able to guarantee that everything would remain stable, nearby to Earth, and out of sight for this amount of time, assuming nobody messed with the stars. This was a rather silly assumption, of course, but it was the spirit of the problem that mattered.

By the time that Willow had finished stretching her engines (as it were) and returned to her geostationary orbit over Sunnydale's meridian, the cleanup at Ethan's was almost finished, and Giles still had not attempted a phone call.

* * *

NORAD Space Command was having a slow night. To the best of its knowledge, cislunar space was quiet, and nothing of note had happened within the Sun's sphere of influence.

* * *

As he floated in the fields of his bed, Xander tossed and turned, reaching for something that wasn't there.

Buffy and Angel dozed, cuddling closely. Angel twitched slightly from time to time, the big smile on his face faltering. The terminal was still in his pants, long forgotten.

Jenny was fast asleep.

* * *

Giles picked up his phone and slowly dialed the number. He was exhausted.

One ring.

Two rings.

Giles lost his nerve and decided to hang up.


End file.
